Phosphorescence
by TaleCaster
Summary: After growing up on the streets Harry is nothing like Dumbledore was expecting, and she won't be manipulated so easily. Fem!Harry. Strong!Dark!Harry. Light bashing. Eventual HP/LV
1. Chapter 1

**More extemporanea. I'm weak, sorry!**

 **This is another female Harry/LV fanfic (eventually). I'm planning for it to be short and simple like DTTH, but this one will probably be updated less often than my other stories.**

 **Also I've had a request to do a time-travel TMR era fic, but think that might be too many open stories. You never know though. I go where the muses take me haha. Thank you for bearing with me.**

 **Xx**

"Just try it arsehole!" The petite brunette spat as a large man cornered her in the alley. In response he back handed her hard, splitting her lip and causing her to bite her tongue before wrapping one beefy hand around her neck. When his other hand tried prying open her jeans she started scratching at his face, but he simply grunted in annoyance and shoved her hard against the wall, and she was temporarily dazed by the knock to her head.

'Come on!' She thought to herself desperately. Harry had a strange ability, something that no one else did. Sometimes it scared her – she felt like Carrie – but sometimes it was incredibly useful, just like it would be incredibly useful right now! If she could control it that is.

She screamed as her shirt was torn and brought her hands to his chest, pushing with everything she had. He didn't budge. She saw her penknife laying on the ground a few metres away and willed it to come to her, but it was useless and it just lay there mocking her.

This wasn't the first time she'd been attacked and she was sure it wouldn't be the last. It was all just another peril of being a runaway. Life was hard and painful and the fight to survive was never ending. But she never stopped fighting. Oh, she'd considered it, in fact, the thought crossed her mind daily, but she would never give up. She was a survivor!

With that thought she stopped struggling, and the man stood to sneer down at her, mistakenly thinking she'd given in. She took the opportunity and instantly threw the heel of her open palm at his nose. The crunching sound was reassuring.

He stumbled back in pain, shaking his head to clear his watery eyes. Harry pushed off the wall, inching toward her knife, but not believing she'd get to it in time. When he gathered himself together the look on his face frightened her – if she couldn't fight him off she didn't think she'd be leaving this alley alive. Her head swung around as she desperately looked for something she could use. There was a skip to the left that was full of building rubble. If she could just get her hands on one brick she'd get away.

It seemed to be too late though and the man marched towards her again. She made to dodge around him, but he caught her easily and threw her slight frame to the ground. She quickly righted herself and started crawling backwards, away from him, but this only made him let out a gruff laugh as he took another step to her. She couldn't think anymore and screamed in fright, even though in her heart of hearts she knew no one would be coming to save her. Any one of the happy, healthy, clueless folk walking on the street beyond the alley would hear the scream and then quicken their pace to get away, determined to never think about where that scream had come from. But that was ok. She'd never needed them before and as her scream echoed from the walls of the alley, the skip lunged to the side, upturning in the process and in an instant the man was buried beneath the debris.

Harry let out a shaky breath as she leaned back to calm her racing heart.

When she was able to stand once again she took a few tentative paces to the wreckage. It seemed the weight of the skip had completely severed an arm, and that was the only part of her attacker she could see. Her face scrunched up in disgust, she spat out a mouthful of blood before tying a knot in her shirt to keep it closed and making her way home. Incredibly useful indeed!

* * *

She lifted the corner of the metal board that covered the door to the run-down factory and crawled inside, where it was as dark as ever. Even in the daylight this place could never be considered anything but dim.

She was careful and slow as she headed to the stairs. The factory was what the media affectionately called a crack-house, and with only a few randomly placed candles lighting the way she had to be careful not to step in any bodily fluids, or trip over an unconscious body.

Most of the people here were nameless. They came and went too often to bother getting to know. Thankfully though, she was heading upstairs, where she and her friends of nearly five years called home. It was a little better up here. Her small group had made this place theirs for over a year now, which was the longest she could remember staying anywhere since she'd taken to living on the streets.

"Hey Jay!" Sean called when he saw her, "Looks like half-pint's been fighting again!" He laughed at her scowl, so she ignored him to collapse onto the battered and stained sofa.

"Looks like she's been whoring herself out." Donna said nastily eyeing her shirt. "Make much money did ya?" Harry rolled onto her side to face the backrest.

"Eat shit and die, Donna." She shot back over her shoulder. She just caught sight of Jason walking into the room before turning back to bury her head beneath an arm.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Nothing. Just some randomer." She explained before anticipating his next questions and continuing. "It's fine, I'm fine. I got away."

"If you say so, half-pint."

Several hours later she woke to the familiar sounds of sex, but merely rolled her eyes and stayed where she was while waiting for them to finish up. She had no idea what time it was and that didn't really matter; it wasn't like they had anywhere to go or anything better to be doing, but she knew from the local church bell that they usually woke up around noon.

She didn't feel any self-pity about her life. It was all she really knew, having fled from her hateful aunt's house at just six years old. She never would have made it through that first year if Jason hadn't stumbled upon her. He was sober the day they'd met and at first tried to take her to the police, but even back then she was a sneaky little thing and had gotten away from him, only to follow him back to the house he was staying in at the time. It had annoyed him at first, but he couldn't bring himself to throw her out. She'd be picked up by traffickers or a sex ring before the night was over, and so he said she could stay for a night – one night! That hadn't worked out for him and without either of them saying anything they became something akin to family. He wasn't a particularly good big brother, but she was still alive and kicking. He taught her to steal for all those times he forgot to eat, and in turn forget to feed her. Over the years he taught her to read and write and even got her a bunch of revision guides each year. It wasn't a school education, but at least she wasn't completely ignorant. Sometimes when he was high he'd spout poetry or long monologues for hours at a time and Harry thought he must have gone to a very good school once upon a time.

Jason had a brother called Harry, which is why nobody ever called her by her name – they said it was too confusing, and so even after he'd overdosed two years ago everyone called her half-pint. Some of the newer additions to their group, like Sean, didn't know her real name at all.

Eventually she heard cigarettes being lit and rolled over, pushing herself up with a groan. Everything ached. Her jaw was tight and swollen, her lip and mouth stung something rotten and she had a black eye if the tender and sore touch was anything to go by. Strangely though her ribs hurt the most and she couldn't remember banging them last night.

Jason got up too, hopefully to find food. Harry was hungry, which probably meant she hadn't eaten for a day or so.

"Oh, what happened to you?" Donna asked when she saw the state Harry was in. She just shook her head and repeated her explanation from last night, knowing the twenty two year old couldn't remember a thing. "Come on then huni," Donna waved her over. "Let's have a look at you."

Harry settled herself onto the mattress beside the blonde. Donna's hair might once have been golden, but now it was always dull and dirty and had faded along with the light in her eyes.

"Gimme, gimme." Harry made a scissoring motion with her fingers and Donna handed over her half smoked cigarette whilst checking the young girl for any serious injuries. Her ribs were bruised but not broken.

"Heads up!" Harry turned and thanked her quick reflexes when she caught the large bag of Doritos before he hit her face.

"Gee, thanks Jay!" She scowled. He came closer and cast a look to Donna.

"She ok?" He asked, hissing in pain when Harry punched him in the shin.

"I'm fine, I told you. Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" She tried to sound offended, but it didn't quite work when she'd already started munching away.

"Cool down, half-pint. Here." He dropped a heavy envelope onto her lap. "Have you spoken to anyone lately? Told anyone where you live?"

"Of course not!" She defended. It seemed that someone knew where she lived though. The letter was addressed to Harry Potter, Second Floor, Carlton House, Harry snorted: Carlton House! Such a nice name for a dilapidated old factory.

"Well," Jason didn't quite believe her but let it go, "I found that downstairs, and apparently there's been a few of them before, but they all got used up for papers and such. Pete was mumbling something about owls." He added with a laugh. "Crazy old drunk."

"Weird." Was all Harry said before stuffing the letter into her jeans. She got up to change into a new top before telling the others that she was heading to the homeless shelter to take a shower.

It was only after she'd washed off all the blood and grime and was sitting in the shelter guzzling the free water that she remembered the letter.

Her heart dropped slightly when she opened it to find it was just a joke. She never let herself hope, but getting a letter, just for her, was nice. It really was very curious though. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to pull this off and she couldn't think of anyone who would waste money on something like that. It must have been one of her friends though. Once when in the height of a drug trip, Sean had sworn he'd seen a sleeping Harry hovering over the bed and she'd accidently used her powers in front of them a few times. It was never anything overly impressive. One time a chair had slid in front of a very withdrawing and angry Jason, blocking his path so she could get away. Another time she'd fallen onto a used needle, but there was never any wound. Still, they all made a big deal about her, saying she was a witch or something. She didn't tell them about the other times she'd used it – they would just think she was crazy or a freak like her family did, and she didn't want that. These people were all she had to keep her relatively safe. It wasn't a healthy situation by any stretch of imagination, but they looked out for each other, went searching if someone didn't come home at night, watched over each other when they sold themselves for cash or drugs and always made sure to get them medical help if it was needed. And they protected Harry from other addicts and made sure no one ever touched her.

* * *

She walked around London for a few hours, stole a pie and thought about going to the library before thinking better of it and heading home.

By the time she reached Carlton House it was getting dark, and she paused at the sight of a huge scraggly man standing in front of the building. She assumed he was looking for somewhere to crash for the night, but she never trusted strangers.

When it became apparent that he wasn't going anywhere she tried to quietly sneak past.

"'Ey, ey, little girl." He called out. She winced but, keeping her distance, turned to face him. "I'm looking for Carlton House."

"This is Carlton House."

"No," He shook his head as if trying to convince himself. "No, that can't be right. I'm after 'Arry Potter. Do you know her?" For a moment she froze. Why would anyone be looking for her? How did they find her?

"What do you want with Harry?" She asked, suspicion clear in her voice. The large man held up his hands in defence and to show he had no ill intentions.

"I've been sent by a school she's been accepted to." She frowned at the lie. If this guy worked at a school, it couldn't be a very good one. What bothered her most though was that someone had obviously put the man up to this, and it made her nervous that someone was going to so much trouble to mess with her. She hoped it was just one of their group, that they were hiding in the bushes somewhere laughing. She hoped, but that didn't feel right.

"I know Harry." She declared in a strong, but pleasant voice. "She told me that if a giant ever came looking for her, I should ask him to go back up the beanstalk and that she'd return the gold just as soon as she could."

"Ey?" The man wasn't a bit offended, just very confused and that 'off' feeling she had grew. He didn't seem to be messing around at all.

"Piss off!" She cried, quickly making her way towards the front door. "I don't want to know, I don't need a school, and if you don't leave I'll call the filth!"

Hagrid watched in shock as the little girl disappeared behind the metal plate. What was going on here?!

 **Ok, so the first chapter of a new story…**

 **Bit more of a kickass Harry than the innocent(ish) DTTH version lol. Hope you enjoyed! Next will be Snape's turn to retrieve Harry.**


	2. 2 Being Difficult

Severus Snape cautiously made his way into the seemingly abandoned old factory. The half giant had to be mistaken. There was no way Lily's daughter; saviour of the wizarding world lived in a place like this. He couldn't imagine any child living here. His lip was curled in a permanent scowl of distaste. It was dark in here, but he could just about make out the bodies dotted around as he made his way through the rooms, the only indication that many of them were actually sleeping and not in fact dead was the wheezing snores. The floor was carpeted with rubbish, so much so that he had no choice but to step on it, hoping for the best and cursing Hagrid, that stupid man.

As he turned to explore another room he was shoved against the wall as a skinny middle-aged man pushed by him before running into the adjacent room. The sound of heaving followed soon after.

Snape dearly want to get out of here. The smell of the place was foul and permeated his scent charm.

Determined to conduct a thorough search so he could go home and take the longest bath of his life, he decided to brave the second floor. Being a potions master, he dealt with a lot of substances that would make a lesser man sick to his stomach, but this place was something else. However, as disturbing and unlikely it was that the Potter Princess was here, he sort of hoped she was. If she wasn't here then where the hell was she?

He stepped out into the factory floor and his hopes heightened, but at the same time his fear went through the roof. Lying on a mattress that was pushed up against the far wall was a young girl sleeping on her back. Messy hair pooled around her swollen and bruised face and although she was fully clothed, the button to her jeans was undone and her right arm was off to the side – resting almost across the neck of a man that looked painfully thin as she did.

He reacted instantly and stunned the sleeping man. He wanted to do more, oh how he wanted to do more, but now was not the time.

Harry woke with a start when the body next to her suddenly jerked before going still once again. She cracked open an eye to see Brian passed out, but thought nothing of it and retrieved her hand – it was something of a joke among her friends that whoever slept beside Harry would get hit in the face at least once an hour by her flinging out her arms. She tried to go back to sleep before quickly sitting up. She could tell something was wrong, and quickly caught sight of the stranger across the floor. They got all sorts here, and although he had a pallor that didn't look at all out of place, he was clean, dressed in long black clothes and was holding onto a flimsy looking little stick of all things. He was also staring at her with such intensity that she was left feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

Just as she was about to speak Jay walked the in from the far end and the new man fired at him with a weapon she obviously hadn't seen.

"Jay!" She cried out in shock as her friend fell to the floor. She didn't know what he'd been hit with, but at least it didn't sound like a gun. Flying immediately into action as soon as he started towards her, she spun and picked up a bottle that had been turned into a makeshift crack pipe and threw it at the dark man. He somehow managed to avoid being hit, but that didn't deter her and she grabbed the next thing she could find – a McDonald's carton, an actual plate, a shoe… She grabbed a plank of wood that might have once been a floor board and charged him.

Snape had to jump away to avoid being hit by the things he didn't have chance to deflect. They wouldn't have really hurt him, but he wasn't keen on coming into contact with any more of this place than necessary.

He'd found her though! The second those stunning green eyes, Lily's eyes, had turned to him he knew he'd found her, and any questions about why she was here could wait. He was stunned when she suddenly made a lunge for him and hit his side with the wood. Before she could bring it down on him once more he flung her away, and was mildly impressed when she got straight back up, intent on attacking again.

"Harry, stop!" He spat out, relieved when she did indeed pause.

"How do you know my name?" He blinked for a moment to take in her angry glare. "Who are you?"

"If you would just calm down for a moment I can explain." His voice was hard, this wasn't what he'd been expecting at all, but the sooner she stopped fighting him the sooner he could get them both out of here.

"Why did you attack my friends?" She interrupted, still defensive.

"Friends?" He sneered. "Any man that would take a little girl to his bed deserves much worse than anything I can do!" Harry looked confused; why would sleeping with Brian be a problem? The mattresses were comfortable – well, more comfortable than anything else here, so why should she care who passed out beside her? It took her a moment before she finally cottoned on.

"Oh! Ew!" She cried, taking a step back. "You disgusting old pervert!"

Snape was thrown off balance by the sudden turn around. When had he become the bad guy here? Pervert?

"If that's what you're after, you've come to the wrong place! Sod off back to whatever bat cave you call home and go fuck a goat or whatever sick shit you're in to!" Snape was gobsmacked. He'd seen children come through Hogwarts that had been dragged up, but he'd never heard anything like this from a child before. The fact that it was coming from Harry Potter was just all the more disconcerting. This girl was supposed to be loved and protected, sheltered from all the adoring fans, the fame and celebrity – safely tucked away from its corrupting influence. Snape was pretty sure a life in the limelight couldn't have done any more damage than the sort of life she'd had in this hellhole.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, Harry Potter." His voice was dangerously low when he finally responded, but he was worried to see it had little effect. "I won't put up with it and it most certainly won't be tolerated at Hogwarts."

"Hogwa... Oh Christ, you creeps need to leave me alone!"

"Hey, keep the noise down, else you'll have everyone rattling." Sean stopped when he caught sight of Snape. "Fuck's this?"

Snape wanted to take the muggle out like he had the others, but decided it wasn't the best way to earn the girl's trust – she seemed to be acquainted with these people.

"I'm a professor from the school Harry will attending in September." Sean whistled.

"That right, half-pint? You off to school?" He laughed. "Wait! Harry?"

She just shrugged. "My crackhead parents wanted a boy." Snape spun round to face her. That was the worst thing she'd said yet. He barely heard the conversation going on around him.

"Ok, well call if you need owt. And professor, you nick anything or touch _Harry_ and I'll break your fucking legs." The wizard didn't even respond to the threat, nor did he care as the man left, stepping over Jay like it was completely normal for him to be lying across the floor.

"Your parents were not crackheads!" He spat. "Your mother was a wonderful woman. Most people," Merlin help him, "most people call the Potters heroes." Harry finally dropped her guard a little at the impassioned words.

"Did you know them?" She couldn't stop herself asking.

He nodded. "We went to school together."

"What…" Where did she even start? All thoughts about being messed about or about a fantasy school for magic had flown from her mind at the prospect of learning about her parents. Even if they turned out to be wasters or junkies or something she didn't care, they were her parents. "What were their names?"

Snape's cold, jaded heart broke at the question. He had stayed stoic after finding her living here in the filth, with the dregs of humanity. He was even unmoved seeing her injured. But that one question brought everything together. It was too cruel. Harry never got to know her parents, couldn't even remember Lily's warmth, and didn't even know that she had been loved. How long had she been living like this? Petunia had refused to speak to him at all, but he believed she'd have told Harry about her sister, so the fact that Harry didn't even know her name indicated that she'd been out on her own for a while now, and that he'd completely failed in his promise to protect her.

None of these swirling emotions showed as he responded:

"Lily and James. Perhaps we could go somewhere to discuss this? Maybe over lunch?"

"What do you want?" Snape felt unsure at the suspicion in her voice. "There's no such thing as a free meal. So what do you want from me?"

"Only that you hear me out about Hogwarts and refrain from attacking me again." He scoffed.

"Oh god, don't start! I don't believe in fairy tales!" However much a part of her brain told her he was serious, she had to live in the real world.

"This is no fairy tale. You can do things, can't you Harry? Things that other people can't?" Harry knew what he meant, but could she really let herself believe?

"Sure." She replied. "I can make it through my days without chemical help and have a special talent for stealing alcohol without getting caught." What else could she say? 'Yeh, I killed a man a few days ago with a five tonne skip?' She didn't think so. The man was unimpressed and gave her a look. "Fine, you want me to believe in magic? Prove it!"

He immediately flicked his wand at her, and she let out a gasp when she was lifted into the air. It didn't take long for her to except what was happening this time. She was done trying to explain it all away and let out a single laugh of joy, but this quickly turned into another glare when the wood was pulled from her hand and landed next to the man, followed by her penknife.

"Put me down!" He lifted an eyebrow at the command. She sighed. "Fine! I'll listen to what you have to say. Now put me down." She would have listened anyway at this point. He lowered her down and they made their way out. When she stopped to get her knife he tried to challenge her, but she was resolute, saying that she wasn't about to go out with some creepy stranger without protection. There was so much wrong with her words that Snape just let it go. One step at a time!

Snape took her out to a muggle café nearby – there was no way he was about to take her into the wizarding world looking like she did: She'd draw attention and then her identity would become known and Merlin, that was a media circus he'd like to avoid.

Harry ordered sausage, chips and egg, which she ate with copious amounts of ketchup and washed down with a pint of coke. Snape eyed the meal warily, but said nothing; it would likely do the girl some good. He ordered a baguette, just to be polite, before casting a basic privacy charm.

Harry ate greedily as she listened to this… professor Snape, give her a basic overview of the magical world. It was beyond wonderful, and for a second she wondered if she'd accidently taken something. The best thing about the day was hearing all about her parents, well, her mum anyway. Snape had a very high opinion of Lily, but didn't have much to say about James at all. She laughed when he explained that she'd been named after her great grandfather, who was high up in law enforcement: she'd certainly ruined that legacy.

He'd been worried about how to broach the subject of the Girl-Who-Lived, but she'd taken it surprisingly well.

Harry was actually hiding her inner turmoil.

"So, some maniac tried to kill me as a baby?! Typical. I never could catch a break." It was a lot to take in. At least she'd killed the fucker. "You'd think if I'm so very famous someone would have helped out. Some kind of poor orphan relief fund wouldn't have gone amiss. Well, whatever. Hey, are you gonna eat that?" She didn't wait for his response before taking his untouched baguette and wrapping it in a serviette for later. There was no sense of entitlement in the way she spoke of money, it was just some ill-humoured throw away comment.

"Actually, your parents left you plenty of money." That got her attention and when he handed over the key to her trust vault she held it close to her chest. It wasn't about the money – pathetic as it was, this was the only thing she had from her folks.

After failing to convince her to go straight to Hogwarts or let him put her up somewhere until school started, he walked her back to Carlton House. It wouldn't do to push her too hard now that she was finally cooperating.

She also refused his offer to take her to Diagon Alley, stating she would be just fine on her own. He usually respected independence in his students, but she was a pain in the arse. In the end he handed her some muggle money and suggested she buy new clothes before making her debut. Harry wasn't a bit offended as she took it – the fool was handing out free money, who was she to refuse?

"Cheers, but if anyone wants to judge me on the clothes I wear, then fuck them."

"Language!" She rolled her eyes.

"Then screw them." She amended. He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time today. That would do. Today had been bizarre, and as loathe as he was to her here, he supposed that if she'd survived this long on her own she could survive another month. Now all that was left to do was to burn his robes and rip some kind of explanation from Dumbledore.


	3. Bad Trip

Acid. Someone had definitely slipped Harry acid. That was the more believable explanation for what she was seeing than the argument that a society of outrageously dressed people with magical powers had a secret but open-aired base right in Central London. She had yet to take more than a step into Diagon Alley and she thought maybe that was far enough.

It was an altogether bizarre scene. The alley was bustling with life, and all the normal sights and sounds to be found in a busy shopping district: children chased each other, to the exasperation of parents; women shopped in groups, bemoaning rising prices; groups of teens stood about seemingly aimlessly – everything was normal, except that they were all in fancy dress and standing in the childhood dream of Hunter Thomson. There were things moving by themselves, suspended in mid-air, and she was sure she'd just seen a troll walk by.

She knew people who would pay good money to experience such a place.

She couldn't relax, but eventually walked forward anyway, determined to face this new reality head-on. It didn't help that she was dog-tired, having barely slept the night before. It was too much to take in all at once and so suddenly too. The world had shifted around her, opened up into something greater, but she was still the same old person she was last week and she only knew how to live in the smaller world, the one she knew so well.

She'd spent most of the night on the factory roof, which was the place she usually escaped to when people were kicking off inside; it was where she felt safe. And though she had fallen asleep sometime after dawn, it was only a few hours until she woke up, having been hounded by the strangest dreams of bright green lights and a woman's scream.

She made her way up the steps of the bank, as the creep from yesterday had suggested she visit it first, only to halt her progress once more. This time she found herself in a Jim Henson movie: there were more people in fancy dress; the bank seemed to deal in piles of gold bullion; and the tellers were… well, she had no idea what they were. She approached one warily.

"What are you?" She asked, brows furrowed and wearing a frown.

"Are you always so rude to the people you meet?" The strange creature chided hotly without looking up from its work. She thought _that_ was rather rude.

"You're not people." She countered, to which it finally snapped its pointed face up to get a look at this offensive witch. It was bad enough that those pure-blood idiots thought goblins were lesser beings, that they shouldn't be treated like other people, but he wasn't used to hearing such things from muggle-borns, as this girl must surely be given her lack of knowledge, as well as her general appearance.

He sneered down at her. "Name?" He barked. Not inclined to answer her questions, or deal with her any longer than necessary.

"Harry Potter." The goblin suddenly seemed unsure.

"Key?" The key he was handed confirmed her identity, and he could only feel baffled by her ignorance and disappointed by her attitude.

After quickly establishing the purpose for her visit, another goblin came over, this one she heard was called Griphook, to show her to the vaults. She was hesitant about following the creature, but curiosity won out and after a thrilling ride she found herself facing a room full of gold – her gold! She hurriedly shoved as much as she could into a sack, idly wondering if she could fence it in the 'real' world.

Armed with the bag full of cash she set about clearing the list of items required for Hogwarts. She spent the money easily and without worry, because she had no idea of its value. Back at home she was exceptionally thrifty. Her friends spent money the day it was earned and there was never anything left over, so she'd learned the hard way to make anything she had stretch as far as possible. This morning she'd visited a charity shop on her way to take a shower, and acquired a fresh pair of dark blue jeans, a yellow tee and some plain black low heels – there was no way she was going to spend the money she'd been given on high-street clothes that she'd be able to get in the same charity shop in a few months. She had forked out for a haircut, but only because she wanted to cover her scar. She'd spent her whole life being invisible and didn't like the idea that everyone would suddenly know who she was – she was getting enough attention as it was because of her cuts and bruises. She wore the rest of her hair in the same high bun she wore most days – it was easier to keep clean that way.

She was still in two minds about whether she was even going to go to this school though. Of course she wanted to embrace this world of magic, a world where she could control her ability and stop being so vulnerable, a world where she was known, where she had money and an education and didn't have to worry about the police tossing her and her friends out of their home, or where her next meal was coming from. But the very things that made it appealing also made her hesitate: the more you had the more you had to lose, the higher the stakes the greater the pain of that loss. And would she even be able to attend a school with 'normal' kids? She had no proper education – what if she couldn't keep up.

"Careful Draco, you might catch something!" A nasty voice cut through her spiralling doubt, and she turned to see a platinum blonde boy being pulled away from her general vicinity by a pug-faced girl. He turned his disgusted expression to her, looking her up and down like she'd just taken a shit in the middle of the alley.

She glared back as they turned and walked away.

"Yeh, keep walking mummy's boy!" She called after them. She didn't know what their problem was – she hadn't looked so presentable for years! She wanted to chase them down and call them out on it, but she had no idea of what kind of abilities or surveillance these people had. She hadn't avoided the authorities for so long by being careless.

The encounter had put her in a bad mood. She hated being looked down on. She'd survived things that would break those pampered pricks! It was also disappointing to find people were just as shitty here as anywhere. Maybe she hadn't helped herself though – she'd made an effort to get dressed up, but maybe she should have left her hair down to try and cover her face more. In a strange way though it was also comforting, because if they were indeed all like that she'd be kicked out of school for fighting before she got too comfortable and then the decision would be taken from her.

She tried to put it from her mind as she continued to shop, but couldn't shake the annoyance as paranoia took hold and she felt like everyone was staring at her.

By the time she entered the musty old wand shop she'd had enough and was a little on edge, so when an old man with dead eyes made her jump, she reacted on instinct and threw her fist at him, hitting him square in the solar plexus and winding him – she felt a bit bad about that, but really! She was just a girl on her own, so it was his fault for sneaking up!

"Ah, Harry Potter. I wondered when I'd be seeing you!" He said with a smile after righting himself. "Yes, yes, just as spirited as expected." Harry said nothing, but watched as the man rambled on about her parents' wands, though she really didn't know what he was going on about. When he moved closer and actually reached out to her forehead, she stepped back with an ugly scowl.

"Can I get a wand?" She asked pointedly. "This is a wand shop isn't it? Not somewhere to for lonely old men to find company!"

He paused for a moment, a little taken aback at her accusing tone, before nodding and deciding it might be best to just get on with it.

"I apologise, it's just that that's were… but never mind that now. Wand arm?" Harry gave a wave with her right hand and then stood still as a tape measure set about her, though when it started measuring her facial features she batted it away – this guy obviously had an issue with personal space.

Finally, the old man handed her a wand. It wasn't for her. Neither were the following options and after some time passed she had to speak up.

"Do you actually know what you're doing?" She was grouchy, tired and altogether had had enough of today.

"Of course, of course." He said, seemingly unphased by her criticism. "Wands choose the wizards, and they can be tricky things."

"Then what was all that about?" She asked, gesturing to the tape measure that now lay dormant on the counter.

"It's not an exact science, but I can usually get some indication of…" He trailed off. "I wonder…"

As soon as the next wand was placed in her hands, Harry knew this was hers. Before she had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for, or feeling for, but this one felt familiar, it felt _right_ and the iridescent sparks it sent out were breath-taking. This was hers.

The old man gave her a curious look, before explaining it was the brother wand of Lord Voldemort, and she wasn't exactly sure how she felt about that. Did that mean she would end up like him? His was the wand that orphaned her. She said nothing in response though – just paid the wand maker and left, her head spinning.

Before she went home there was one place she still wanted to explore. She had noticed the dark alley earlier in the day, and although she knew nothing good every came from such places, she had to know what was down there. She had done a lot today that she wasn't comfortable with, so it didn't seem like such a big deal. She just wanted to know the seedier side of this community; she needed to know so it couldn't take her by surprise.

Conversely, as she made her way down the grim and shadowed alley, she felt more at home. These were her people and she was more confident that she knew how to handle them. The man talking to the wall – he could have been any of a number of people she knew. The group of sinister looking men leering at her – a regular sight. The old woman who tried to grab hold of her – she could recognise the look of opportunity in her eyes.

Hand in her pocket and wrapped tightly around the penknife, she entered an old run down pub, hoping to listen in on a few drunken conversations, which was the best way she'd found of getting an honest commentary of what was happening in the world. All eyes turned to her, though nobody seemed overly bothered by her presence and soon went back to their conversations when she gave a cold, hard glare.

"I'll take one of those." She told the barman, pointing to the thick golden liquid being drunk a few seats down. She didn't recognise any of the drinks on offer and thought it best not to draw any more attention by ordering a coke. Besides, she's been drinking alcohol (though not heavily of course), since she was six, and her friends didn't mess around with the light stuff, so she was sure she could handle whatever it was. The greying man behind the bar gave her a doubtful look, but poured her one anyway. It burned the second she took a sip, but she fought to keep her face straight and nodded her thanks before finding a table.

The pub wasn't much to look at from the outside, but was busy for this time of day. Unfortunately for her though the patrons spoke in hushed whispers, and she only lasted ten minutes before deciding to bite the bullet. She could always make a run for it if she needed to. She had to be fast, living as she did.

She went over to the nearest group of dark men with mean faces. It was stupid and scary, but she did it anyway.

"Hey, mind if I join you?"

"Why would we want to sit with some muggle filth?" One asked.

"Are you even in school yet? Does your mummy know you're down here? Dangerous place, you know?" Another mocked.

She sat down, ignored the dismissive tone and turned to the second man.

"I'm starting this year. And I can handle myself!" She tried to brush it off and make it seem like this was something she did often, but the men weren't convinced, so she pushed and went straight for what she really wanted to know. "Harry Potter's supposed to be starting this year too." She laughed, hoping she was as famous as Snape said she was, and these men had a clue what she was talking about.

"Aye, kept 'er well 'idden 'aven't they?" This man had grey hair and a long black beard.

"Wanted to make sure she lived long enough to get to school." The first man cackled.

"Do people really still care enough to want her dead?" Her answer was three identical looks of repugnance.

"After what the bitch did to the Dark Lord I'd say it's only a matter of time before someone gets to her!" She took a drink to hide the gulp. "Not that I'd expect a mudblood like you to understand!" He spat.

"Dark Lord was the greatest and most powerful wizard, and he wouldn't have taken kindly to you being here, little girl!"

Suddenly the man to her left grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. She let out a pained cry as her shoulder was jerked sharply and likely out of place.

"Why don't we show you just how Harry Potter will die once she's found." He spat, and after the barman requested they take this outside, she found herself being dragged towards the door, the whole time she tried not to struggle, because that only made the pain worse. However the man's grip wasn't letting up and she knew she couldn't let herself be taken.

In one swift move she swung her right hand, knife drawn, as hard as she could into the man's gut. He let go instantly and she didn't take a second to see the damage before making a run for the alley. Her heart was pounding as she ran, but pushed on even faster when one of them shouted after her.

She saw a man walking alone and slowed. He wore the same generic black cloak that seemed to be so popular here. She hid her bloody hand and knife behind her back.

"Hey," She said a little breathless. "Black Beard over there was just telling the whole pub how much your wife likes taking it up the arse! I tried to stop him, but… Just thought you should know." And she set off again, hoping for the best and allowing a small smile when the sound of gruff shouting reached her ears.

When she finally reached the relative safety of Diagon Alley, she tried to clean off her hand on her jeans and then went to retrieve her trunk full of shopping from where she'd left it in the old creepy wand maker's. Her shoulder was throbbing something rotten, but she seen them be set before so knew once she made it home she'd be taken care of.

As she hurried down the alley, she caught sight of what she hoped was a medical shop of some kind, though it turned out to just be a tiny opticians. Resting her head in defeat against the glass, she grimaced as she realised she couldn't suffer like this the whole way home. She had no idea what she was doing, but tried to mimic what she'd seen; bracing her injured arm against the door frame, she took hold of the arm and yanked it back and down, hard and fast. She had to let out another cry, but the relief that followed the pain was bliss.

"Are you alright, dear?" A woman in her mid-twenties with long auburn hair had come out of the opticians to investigate the scream.

"Yeh, yeh I'm, fine, cheers." Her eyes flickered back to the sign. "Actually…" She knew she should probably get her eyes tested. She'd had two pairs of glasses in her life – the first were broken in a day, so she very rarely used the other pair, and they were out of the charity box anyway, so weren't quite right. She made do without for the most part because she was short-sighted, so she could read and prepare drugs for her friends, but she imagined that she'd need to see the board and such at school. "Can I get my eyes tested?"

And less than an hour later, she'd found the first thing she loved about the wizarding world: magic could be used to permanently fix eyesight! No more making do and no more glasses! She decided she might give this world a shot after all. She'd found that people she didn't even know wanted to kill her bloody, but she'd just have to make sure she was stronger than them: 'Terrible, but great' the wand maker had said – she could probably live with that.


	4. New World, Same Shitty People

Albus Dumbledore buried his wince with a cough drop as Snape slammed the door on his way out of the headmaster's office. His little potions master had been rather difficult of late, and on more than one occasion he'd had to remind the man of his own failings, to remind him that really, all this mess was his doing for the foolish choices he'd made in the past, and that he shouldn't try shifting the blame onto someone who had only ever tried to do what was best for Harry Potter.

He grinned down darkly at the cloak folded handsomely on his desk. The news that had so upset Snape was music to his ears. That the Potter girl had had such a hard life would surely work in his favour. That she already knew the way of the world would surely save him a great deal of time and effort in persuading her to kill for him. Most importantly though was that if Snape was correct in his assessment of her character, he'd have her loyalty before the end of term: He knew very well that most problematic children, those with aggressive and anti-social behaviours, were simply the children that most needed and wanted attention, affection and a firm hand. He was ready to provide all of those things – that had been his plan when he left her with the magic hating muggles after all.

* * *

Harry sat on her trunk, picking viciously with her knife at the wall beside her as she listened to the pounding rain outside. It was the dead of night, and tomorrow morning she was supposed to be at King's Cross, getting a train to a magical boarding school. However at that moment she was sheltering from the storm under the stairs of a tower block several miles away.

Over the last month she fluctuated between excitement and dread, at looking forward to going to Hogwarts and firmly deciding she wouldn't, and when yesterday she'd finally declared she would not be attending, Jay had kicked her out – after a nasty lecture:

" _You're not going? You have to be fucking kidding me! You don't want a free education? You really love living in this shithole so much that you are going to turn down a free bed, free food? You're fucking unbelievable! It's a good thing your folks aren't around to see you pissing away the opportunity they've given you! It's a lot more than most can give their kids! But no, you're right! Be a fucking coward and stay here! And hey, don't worry, you've only got maybe two or three more years, then you can go out and work the streets with the others! Who needs a fucking education anyway?!"_

That had gone on for a while, before he eventually told her to get the fuck out. It was far from the first time she'd been kicked out, and so wasn't particularly worried because she knew he'd take her back. It was however the first time he'd done so for her benefit, and she hated to admit it, but it was probably just the push she needed to make her leave. She was still telling herself that she wasn't going, that she had no place in that world, but there was probably a reason she hadn't let herself fall asleep yet – she had no alarm, so if she did fall asleep now there was no way she'd make it to the train on time.

She wondered if Jay would be of a different mind if she shared the stories in her new books; the ones that made her famous and put her in serious danger. Probably not.

In the end, she spent the night carving the words to one of Jay's recited poems into the wall, before getting up with the sun and slowly making her way to the station – grabbing a large black coffee on the way. She hadn't been planning to leave when she got dressed the day before and was tired, so probably looked wrecked, but was also too tired to care. Still, she got changed into something less grubby in the station's toilets and tried to tame her hair with some water before giving it up as a bad job and heading out to find the impossible platform.

It was a good thing she arrived so early, because she had plenty of time to watch, invisible as ever even with her great trunk, as wizards and witches arrived and one by one disappeared into a solid brick wall. They became less and less as she watched the station clock ticking down to eleven. At five to she decided it was now or never, and walked speedily at the wall, eyes closed and muscles clenched as she still half expected a collision. She even mumbled 'open sesame'.

It was only when the sound of excited hustle and bustle hit her that she dared open her eyes. The Hogwarts Express was quite the sight, and so were the families around her. Some of the parents were crying, and Harry rolled her eyes and set off to find a seat. She was planning on sleeping the whole way.

She was lucky enough to find a small vacant compartment near the back and, after placing her trunk across the doorway to discourage visitors, promptly fell gracelessly onto the seat, pulling down the shutter to block those outside, and got as comfortable as she could. By the time she felt the train pulling out of the station she was already half asleep.

Harry could pretty much sleep through anything at home, but she was also highly cautious and so her sleep was disturbed every time the door to her compartment slid open and she felt someone else's presence. For the most part she brushed them off or ignored them altogether and they moved on. Only one girl didn't take the hint.

"Oh, sorry to disturb you. May I sit in here?" She looked up to the girl, who appeared to be a little older than Harry and had a classic beauty that she could never even dream of.

"Sure, I don't own the train, but I'm gonna be sleeping." She warned and leaned back against the side of the car.

"That's fine. I'll let you sleep, but I'm Fay." Harry didn't respond.

All was quiet for a good few hours, but then the door opened again – this time to maybe a dozen students.

"This _has_ to be her; we've checked everywhere else!"

"No way. She looks like a muggle tramp!" Yep, they were definitely talking about her. She turned a cold glare on the intruders.

"I am a muggle tramp, so why don't you piss off?"

"Speaks like one too." She'd seen the girl who spoke before, at Diagon Alley.

"Pans, at least _try_ to be tactful." Chided another girl who was larger set and had a square face.

"Come on guys, she was sleeping." Fay tried, but this just turned their attention to her.

"Oh, trying to keep her all to yourself? Sounds about right for you, Dunbar." The first girl (Pans?) sneered nastily. "Makes sense that someone like _you_ would want to cosy up to the Potter Princess. Blood Traitor through and through."

"Hey, I don't even know who this is?" Fay responded, pointing at Harry.

"Well, who are you then?" Pans asked haughtily.

"Aurora." Harry replied and then made a display of going back to sleep, completely ignoring any further conversation and thankfully it didn't take long until they all left, Fay included.

It was only some time later, when sitting in a precarious little boat staring up at a castle straight from a fairy tale, that the realisation she was really here hit home. She was actually here, alone, in a different country, moving into the most beautiful place she'd ever seen to learn how to be a witch… She wanted a cigarette.

Every step she took after that moment of realisation only drove it home more, until she found herself standing in front of the student population, staring in disbelief at a singing hat.

"Mother of fuck." She exclaimed under her breath.

She watched each student go up to the hat to be sorted, she watched as each one without exception was pale with worry when they took their seat on the stool, and wondered how they could show such weakness before the people they had to live with for the next god know how long.

When her name was called, she tried to ignore the excited whispers spreading like wildfire throughout the Great Hall, and took her seat with purposeful insouciance.

" _Hmm, an interesting mind…"_ A voice cut through her thoughts as soon as the hat was placed upon her. She didn't like it, not one bit: it was too intrusive. _"Ah, don't worry; I'm only here to sort you. Though, I think that might be a challenge with you, yes?"_

"Just get on with it!" She whispered sharply.

" _Patience is a virtue, you know?"_

"So's Hatricide."

" _Ha! Definitely not a Ravenclaw then."_ The hat continued, not at all intimidated by her threat. In fact it seemed to be mocking her in a way she didn't understand. _"You have spirit, and are brave, no doubt. You'd be well placed in Gryffindor."_

"Then place me in Gryffindor!" She hissed.

" _But there is more: a desire to get strong, to prove yourself worthy of being here; a thirst to be_ great! _Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness."_

"Then place me there!"

" _Yes, I think Slytherin House would best suit you. But I must pass on a warning before I decide – there was another student, one who walked these halls so many years ago, and he was just like you in so many ways: He was strong in both power and mind; he was independent, because he didn't believe he needed anyone else; and most importantly, he looked down on others."_ I don't look down on people, she thought indignantly. _"Ah, but you do, you do. You see them as weak and petty and you have no doubt that you can surpass them all. The boy I speak of thought the same way, and he made all the wrong decisions because of it. So please, remember that just because they haven't been sharpened by life, that doesn't mean other people don't have powers of their own, powers that that boy did not, but you do and could easily lose if you follow the wrong path."_

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Her question was loud enough to be heard by the staff and students nearby.

" _Just remember that, and remember you don't have to fight for survival here at Hogwarts."_

"Oh fuck off." That was also heard by many and met with raised eyebrows and open mouths. She didn't understand what the crazy old hat was talking about, but she knew he was commenting on her life, and the way she chose, no, the way she had to live that life.

" _You don't have to live that way. All the same, for you, better be_ SLYTHERIN _!"_

For a moment after there was silence, and then, as she made her way to the Slytherin table, chatter broke out, chatter that got louder and louder and contained various cries of 'Traitor' and only subsided when the women conducting the sorting called for calm.

Really, what was wrong with these people?

Dumbledore watched the rest of the sorting with a frown. Being placed in Voldemort's house didn't mean much to him personally – many good wizards had come from Slytherin – but he knew it certainly wouldn't make his job of spinning her Golden Girl image any easier. He supposed he would just have to work with it. Besides, there were enough children of death eaters in that House to ensure she was ostracized, and then the lighter students would be her only choice for friendship, and they could help set her right. And if the Snakes tried to make friends with her, he would just have to make her see how they all wanted to use her and how they support her parents' murderer.

The headmaster wasn't the only one pondering this unexpected sorting; all the teachers were a little shocked, but resting on the back of Quirinus Quirrell's head, Voldemort was intrigued. If the beacon of Light could be turned against them it would be a huge victory, it would embarrass Dumbledore and destroy the morale of those fighting for him. And if she could not be swayed, being in Slytherin would make her so much easier to get to, to kill – all it would take is an invite from a trusted Slytherin friend and she'd be as good as dead.

All the staff had been briefed on what to expect from Harry Potter. They knew of her colourful childhood and brash personality, and they were curious to find out how she'd polish up.

After the headmaster – a man Harry thought belonged in a hospital for the senile – had said his words, food appeared before her. It was more food than she'd ever seen and it smelled divine, and she wasted no time in digging in, not having eaten in over a day.

" _You're_ Harry Potter?" Asked a boy a few seats down. She remembered from the sorting that he was called Blaise. She remembered because it was such a good name… she wished she had a name like that!

"You told us her name was Aurora." Draco Malfoy accused Pansy. She'd made a point to learn their names, because it was easier to avoid and/or fight with people when you knew who they were.

"That's what she told us!" The heavyset girl defended.

"Why _did_ you tell us that?" Pansy asked suspiciously.

Harry shrugged. "It's the name of a Disney Princess. I just wanted to sleep. Seemed appropriate."

"Disney?" All the kids around her looked confused.

"You've got to be fucking joking. You don't have Disney in your world?" When no one answered she shook her head and explained: "Ok, well I guess she's just a fairy tale character who's known for, well, sleeping." She could admit that sounded stupid – things like this didn't work if you had to explain them!

"Why did you lie?" Draco asked. She looked down the table and realised she had the attention of more than just the first years.

"I told you, I was tired. A bunch of bitches come knocking at your door, you don't exactly want them to stick around." She cut a potato in half, already feeling full, but also regretful about leaving so much food behind. Her instinct was to save it for later, and it was a hard instinct to ignore.

"We're not bitches!" Pansy growled, rather bitchily in Harry's opinion. The pretty blonde beside Pansy shoved her arm lightly.

"Oh come on Pans, you were kind of mean back on the train."

"Well it was her own fault." She turned to Harry. "Why in Merlin's name do you look like that?" She gestured to her clothes.

"Oh my god, will you shut up? What does it matter to you what I wear?" Harry was getting sick of these people already. She didn't care what the hat said: these people were petty, and probably weak too.

"We want to know why you're dressed like a muggle – a _poor_ muggle." Malfoy's tone was condescending and it grated on Harry. She knew she looked a little haggard, but didn't think it was that bad.

"I'm dressed like a poor muggle, because I am a poor muggle." She responded regardless. These kids could try all they liked, but she wasn't ashamed. "Or at least I thought I was until about a month ago!"

She was taken off guard by the sounds off disgust that followed her answer – one boy even made a gagging noise. It seemed the books were right: some wizards really, really didn't like muggles. However once her words settled, the questions began:

"What do you mean?" "Poor?" "With muggles?" And conclusions were drawn when she chose to ignore those questions, having had enough of these kids:

"Of course the Girl-Who-Lived is a muggle-lover." "Probably turned her back on her magical inheritance to live with the scum!"

"Whatever." She batted their attacks away, which only seemed to annoy them more.

Pansy sat back and sneered across at her. "The old hat has to be broken. You don't belong here at all! Better watch your back, Potter!"

Murmurs of agreement echoed around her, so she was grateful when a prefect came along with a message that the headmaster wanted to see her.

"Look, she's Dumbledore's favourite already." She shot them a glare and walked away from the jeering. She didn't think she'd ever been around so many arseholes at once!

* * *

"Ah, Miss Potter, please come in and take a seat." Her face remained impassive as she complied. Nobody was that nice unless they wanted something from you. "Lemon Drop?" He offered when he took his own seat. She shook her head no. She didn't accept gifts from strangers or sweets from old men. Dumbledore carried on jovially: "You must forgive the students' reaction to your sorting. I'm sure you can imagine it was quite a shock." He laughed kindly.

"You wanted to see me?" She finally spoke, wanting to get this over with and feeling the old man wouldn't be getting to the point anytime soon if she did nothing.

"Yes, yes. I wished to speak with you, to see if we can't work together to make your transition here as smooth as possible." Her eyes narrowed.

"And do you have this conversation with all new students?"

"No, I do not." That gentle smile again and twinkling eyes. She wanted to hit him. She was thinking about hitting him… "Only with those who have previously had no formal education, or a stable home." He explained.

"And why would that shit be any of your concern?" She challenged right away. This was the first figure of authority she'd had to deal with in a long time and she wondered if he wasn't going to try to interfere with her life already.

Dumbledore forced himself to stay in character. He knew she was going to be difficult.

"Miss Potter, while at school you will address the staff as either 'professor', 'sir' or 'miss'." He spoke in the same gentle tone, but Harry just gave him a look.

"Really?" She rolled her eyes. "And is that all you wanted to talk to me about, _sir_? Because I'd really rather be getting to the dorms." She had a funny feeling all her belongings would have either been set on fire or flushed by now.

"Not at all, my dear, that was merely an aside." She couldn't hit him, she told herself, she had to at least try not to get expelled before she'd even unpacked… "I wanted to assure you, that should you need any extra support, either in the way of catching up with the other children – anything you might have missed out on having not been to school – or help navigating the wizarding world, you simply need to ask, and help will be provided." He wanted her to ask him for help? Christ…

She looked down at a Hogwarts crest that headed some letter and spoke, wanting to change the subject.

"Who named the school? 'Cause 'Hogwarts' is a really piss-poor name. Why not just name it 'Boarboils' or 'Pigfarts'?"

"It…"

"And 'school of Witchcraft and Wizardry'? Aren't they the same thing?" He sighed.

"Hogwarts was established over a thousand years ago, and unfortunately, at that time there were some discrepancies in the magical techniques taught to men and women." Harry shrugged, supposing it was a good enough answer. Besides, she didn't actually care what the school was called.

"Now, I believe we also need to discuss your language. Swearing is not permitted in this school, and if you continue to do so, you will find yourself in trouble." He advised a little more sternly.

Harry scoffed. "It's the way I talk." She said dismissively.

"Even so, I believe it would be in your best interests if you learned to avoid using them." Her face screwed up, so he went back to that kindly grandfather tone. "I know it can be difficult…"

"I doubt that." She mumbled, but he ignored her and continued.

"I know that sometimes when you feel cornered you want to kick out at the world…" Oh god, she thought, there was nothing worse than when 'normal' people tried to relate.

"I don't want to kick out at the world, _sir._ The world is a lot bigger and stronger than me, and I find that if you try, it will knock you the fuck out. Oh, sorry, it will knock you out cold." She wasn't an idiot, and she gave him a flat look to let him know she didn't appreciate what he was trying to do. Thought she knew she really should try to curb the swearing, at least around the teachers. "Can I go now?"

"Yes, you may go." He looked disappointed in her. "But I will be keeping an eye on your progress – to make sure you are settling in."

"Great." She stood to leave, but paused at the door. "Oh and professor? I think while at school you should probably address me as 'Miss Potter', or hey, just 'Potter' if you like: ' _Dear_ ' sounds a little overfamiliar to me." And with that she was gone, leaving the aged wizard to frown at the door. He had prepared for it to take some effort to gain her trust, but he might have underestimated the timeline. She wasn't about to snap up his offer or attention anytime soon, and she was also a tad too insightful for his liking. He would need more time with her, but wouldn't get away with asking to see her without good reason.

Oh well, he had all year.


	5. The Break

She swung her hand down hard and grabbed the arrogant boy's balls as firmly as she dared while backing him up quickly against a stone pillar. The inevitable reaction was instantaneous: he let out a tortuous high pitched noise that was somewhere between a squeal and a choke, bending into himself to try and alleviate the pain.

"Not so sure now are you?" She asked nastily, while not letting up in the slightest. His only response was another pathetic choking sound.

"Hey, get off him, you psycho!" She turned to glare a piercing, chilling glare at Blaise, who was close, looking like he wanted to intervene but not sure how. She reached out and made a grabbing motion with her free hand.

"I have two hands – you wanna play too, pretty boy?" Blaise stayed silent, his jaw clenched tightly and his glare trying to match her own, but failing miserably. "T's what I thought."

Freeing her pocket knife from the confines of her robes, she flicked it open and held the blade above her fingers, at the base of Draco's sack, applying enough pressure to makes its presence known, but nowhere near enough to cut through the fabric of his trousers.

"You ever try to use my parents against me again and I will rip off your balls and show everyone just what a spineless, impotent little pissant you really are." Her voice was hard and barely above a whisper. Satisfied by the fear in his eyes, she gave one last push before releasing him and marching from the common room, diligently ignoring the looks of shock, disgust and fear sent her way.

She'd tried, she really had. Over the last two weeks she avoided her house mates, and the students as a whole actually, to the best of her ability, and she rarely slept in the dorms with the other girls. She never usually had many problems getting on with people, but maybe that was because before she was just some girl, whereas here in this school she was well known – everyone had expectations of her and everyone had decided she'd fallen far short of those expectations. Maybe she was too cautious, paranoid even, but it felt to her that everyone hated her before she'd even had a chance to get to know them. They hated her because she was apparently a traitor and they hated her for her fame. The hated her for being dark and they hated her for being light. She barely knew what these terms meant yet, never mind where she would fit on the spectrum. She'd thought that maybe fame would give her a voice, but instead she'd been completely striped of one. She wished she could go back to being invisible, that they would leave her alone so she could concentrate on learning. She wouldn't care so much what they thought of her if it didn't present daily problems.

On the first night, after returning from her meeting with the old man, the damage wasn't as bad as she'd been expecting: All her clothes, underwear included, had been thrown about the Slytherin common room and she walked in to find various members of her house holding or tossing them about, making sarcastic and derogatory comments while they did, so she had no choice but to retrieve each item one by one. She didn't respond to their taunts – didn't give them the satisfaction of knowing they'd affected her in any way. Inside she was seething, and despite her every effort not to be, thoroughly humiliated. Still, at least she still _had_ clothes, she told herself after finding all her other possessions missing. It seemed the rules of the street applied here too, but as angry as she'd been to lose her first real possessions, she knew how to play by those rules and wasted no time in stealing back all the school books and supplies needed, mostly from those in Slytherin House. They all had their suspicions of course, but no proof, and could hardly claim the moral high ground in order to complain about it.

There were some moments of respite. Not all the students were quite so bad, so when necessary she sat with Daphne or Millicent and sometimes Fay when her classes were shared with Gryffindor. On occasion she even fell into civilised conversation with the other students, even those like Malfoy and Parkinson and that awful Granger girl, but at some point she would always say something to set them off – usually having no idea what that thing was or why. She had to sit beside Granger in Transfiguration, and even though most of the students she was more familiar with reviled the girl, she was every bit as arrogant and stuck up as they were. Only she was even worse, because she believed herself to be unerringly correct about everything, even Harry. In fact she seemed to get off on telling Harry all about herself – as though she knew the first thing about her! And Harry didn't at all appreciate learning precious details of her own life from someone who thought they had the authority to decide that because of those details she should be this, that or the other. The thing she hated most was the way Hermione treated her like a fool. Harry was no fool.

She wondered what her friends back home were doing now. Nothing in her life was ever easy, but since arriving here it felt like it almost had been before.

The only thing that stopped her leaving – something she considered on a daily basis, just like that other, darker thing – was the education she was getting here. It was harder to ignore the possibilities of magic when they were laid out before her. She had to stay here. She had to learn all the wonderful things the teachers had described in their opening lectures, and she wasn't about to let the simple-mindedness of the others drive her away.

And so for the most part she tried to keep her head down, hoping everyone would grow bored with her eventually. However, this particular evening she'd gotten tangled up in an argument with some first year boys about muggles. It was silly really; their blind hatred, but she was prepared to let it go until Draco had brought up her parents, suggesting she would be killed just as they were; that her death would mean nothing, just like theirs; that they were weak fools who thought as she did and paid the price by being quashed like bugs. And you simply don't attack an orphan's parents and expect to get away with it. It was low. It was…

After leaving the room, Harry ran as fast as her legs would carry her through the dark hallways.

* * *

Albus was pleased with how things were going. The girl's coarse personality made it difficult for her to form any friendships, so all he had to do was sit back and wait for her to concede defeat and he would be there to help guide her, to build her back up into the girl he needed her to be. He didn't enjoy seeing a child cast out like this, but he would allow it – it was for the greater good.

Most of the staff reported that the girl was short with them, but generally didn't cause trouble, though they all shared the opinion that she didn't respect the teachers at all. Snape had tried to talk with her a few times, to help her, but she would never give an inch, insisting she was fine and that he needed to back off. Snape had done this against Dumbledore's wishes, but it could turn out well for him, because now the man knew he couldn't keep pushing her, so he would be all the girl had left when the time came.

* * *

Harry kept running, up never-ending stairs and along corridor after corridor. Bringing up her parents meant remembering all the things she'd lost. And all the things she'd gained – a painful, loveless existence. Harry wasn't loved… She didn't need to be.

Her legs pumped harder and harder.

Her friends cared for her, she knew that, but they didn't love her – junkies loved drugs too much to spare any for their own kids half the time, never mind a child that wasn't even related to them. She didn't need to be loved… She never had been… at least not in conscious memory.

She kept running: a painful stitch making its presence known and malnourished bones jarring against each other with every hard foot fall.

But she still clung to that fairy tale ideal that she did once upon a time have loving parents… parents who'd been taken from her too soon… while she still needed them… no! She didn't need anybody! But believing she had once had loving parents meant that she was at the very least _lovable_ … that there was nothing inherently bad or wrong about her that meant she couldn't be loved were her life different. She didn't deserve to be hated. She wasn't worthless… She was fucking strong… She was… lovable... surely...

* * *

Voldemort sat in the window of Quirrell's office. Since being back at Hogwarts his soul, or spirit, or whatever it was that currently passed as his life, was more stable than it had been in years. He was interested to know what it was that was affecting him this way, but that was a job for later, when he would be able to move around unhindered. For now, he just accepted it, and all the benefits that came with it. He was stronger now, not by a large margin, but enough that he could fully take possession of his host's body for short periods of time. It was something he did whenever he had strength enough to do so.

He was currently enjoying the dark of the night, and of the way the shadows danced across the Hogwarts grounds. Having not had a body for so long he appreciated the simple things like touch, or being able to read a book to do his own research, and of course, to hold a wand again. There were far more grandiose things he wanted to do, but they would require a body of his own. However, all the base pleasures could be experienced through Quirrell's.

He turned his gaze down to the book laying open on his lap: the theory of alchemy wasn't his strongest subject, but he could get his head around anything if he set his mind to it, and he would need to do just that if he was to take full advantage of all the Philosopher's Stone had to offer. He had gone to great lengths to ensure he could never truly die, to ensure his soul could never leave this existence, and the Stone would ensure he lived forever in the body he would create.

Just as he was settling back into his reading, he felt a wave of childish angst wash over him for no longer than a second. It was disgusting and pathetic, but most curiously, it wasn't his and nor was it Quirrell's, for he had locked the unfortunate man's consciousness in a windowless small box within his own mind, as he did whenever he took full control.

* * *

Harry ran into a nearby classroom, having no clue where she'd ended up but having to stop before her legs gave out. It still wasn't enough though.

For those coddled idiots to try and take the memory of her parents from her was beyond cruel – even if it was make-believe, it was all she had.

She looked around the room as the unfamiliar sensation of tears prickling at her eyes threatened her. Harry Potter did NOT cry! Not ever! Crying was for other people, she couldn't afford it. Her breathing was hard… but it wasn't enough…

She picked up a chair and threw it against a wall with everything she had, taking comfort in its violent destruction.

This school was supposed to be better!

She upturned the tables around her and more chairs joined their fellow as they fell in pieces to the floor.

This school was supposed to be an opportunity! A place to grow stronger! To stop being so damn vulnerable!

She emptied the bookshelves, tearing at pages as she went, and used a strength she didn't know she possessed to upturn a cupboard, kicking and smashing the various objects that fell out.

This place was worse! She hadn't had to think about this shit for years! She shouldn't have to put up with it here. She was fine as she was!

She grabbed the inkwell from the teacher's desk and threw that too, imagining it was any of a dozen faces she wanted to smash! Harry was never usually so violent from anger, only necessity, but right now she thought setting fire to Slytherin House was the best idea she'd ever had.

One day! One day she'd show them all!

She swiped the junk littering the desk to the floor, and pushed against it hard. And she pushed again. And again. But it seemed her adrenalin and emotional outburst had run dry, and she fell defeated to the ground, feeling weak.

"Well,"

Despite her sudden lethargy, she turned sharp eyes to the door, letting out a sigh when she saw professor Quirrell leaning against the door frame and looking downright amused.

"I do hope you feel better now." She didn't miss that he spoke with a lightly mocking lilt and leaned her head back against the desk. She'd done it now: she was going to be expelled, but she couldn't tell if she even cared anymore. At least she wouldn't have to be nice to the stuttering moron, she thought when he took a step into the room.

* * *

I'm at the seaside next week, so might not be able to update and therefore wanted to give an extra chapter now to make up for it. If things go to plan I'll be able to update DTTH this weekend before I leave as well.

Also I just want to say that Harry isn't going to turn into a wreck or anything, lol this is just an adjustment period together with having to face some truths about herself and her parents' deaths, which she would have to do eventually, because it's such a big deal in the wizarding world. :)

Thanks for reading! xx


	6. Temptation

"Not quite as tough as you pretend to be, are you?" Voldemort mocked as he walked into the room, looking down on the defeated child with barely concealed glee as he quietly cast as many privacy charms as he dared. He couldn't afford to draw attention with displays of powerful magic. To see the girl responsible for his downfall in such a position was a thrill he'd not been expecting, but he could make the most of it. He could take advantage of any situation and this one would be all pleasure.

"I'm plenty tough." Harry rolled her eyes, feeling no need to defend herself to the idiotic teacher: she was what she was, and no amount of being looked down upon would change that.

"Right." His words were dripping with sarcasm. "And attacking a room of inanimate objects really proves that. Is that how tramps act nowadays? Your muggle friends must be so proud." The contempt in his voice when he spoke of muggles wasn't missed by Harry, but she was used to hearing it now. Even so, something about this man made her uneasy, not that she let it show. There was just… _something_ in the air, something that felt like pressure, that made her feel heavier or that gravity suddenly had a greater pull. It wasn't much, but it was enough of a difference to notice, and try as she might to explain it away as her body's exhaustion, she could not.

"'Nowadays'?" She scoffed. "Just how old are you?" Voldemort had to admire her front: she hadn't made any move to get up, acting as though she wasn't intimidated by their positions, that she didn't even see the experienced wizard looming over her as a threat. Although to be fair to her, he wouldn't have been shaken by a man like Quirrell at her age either.

"Old enough to remember workhouses. Perhaps you would have benefited from such a place." He said nastily, while she just shook her head. She assumed he was joking, but who knew, maybe wizards had a way to stay younger for longer. It was something to look in to, because if she did end up kicked out and thrown back to Carlton House she'd probably end up working the streets and she knew that the younger you were the better price you got. She never planned to enter into such a career, but also knew dreams were for fools.

"Poor little orphan girl." He ridiculed. "All alone in the world, so vulnerable to the whims of others."

"What the fuck do you want?" He took another step towards her, oh so tempted to deal out a little retribution.

"Such a mouth you have." Harry eyed the wand that twirled easily between Quirrell's fingers and he wondered if deep down she couldn't feel the danger before her, that she knew on some instinctive level that he was a threat.

She rubbed a hand against her forehead absently, cursing the building headache which no doubt came from her previous exertion.

"Oh god, don't you start!" Finally feeling the strength returning to her legs she pushed herself forward. "You gonna help me up, or just stare like a bitch?"

"I think I prefer you on the floor." The discomfort she felt from this man went through the roof, and she very much wanted to get the hell out of there. Her dorm seemed like a safe haven at that moment.

Keeping a wary eye on him, she started to get up, only to be thrown back to the floor in agony. She didn't hear what he said, she could hardly even comprehend where she was, never mind what was happening to her. She'd been hurt before, but this was truly terrible.

Hidden behind the face of his servant, Voldemort felt better than he had in years. It was a risk, he knew, but the girl was just too vulnerable before him, practically begging him to end her life. The temptation to do so was strong, and for a moment he considered abandoning his hunt for the Philosopher's Stone in order to kill the myth that was Harry Potter. He knew he wouldn't get away with it though; he was too weak, so if he did anything to alert the castle's monitoring charms he'd be caught – that was not an option. The thought of his current position enraged him, and he intensified the power of his curse, watching as she rolled over, instinctively trying to tense up in order to prevent what must surely have felt like her body being ripped apart. Her pained cries were music to his ears. He couldn't even cast any satisfyingly dark magic, and so settled on a spell that would twist up the girl's muscles. She made such sweet music and so he continued to watch as Harry cried out, writhing before him: It would do. For now.

"I said I prefer you on the floor; that means you're to stay there." He spoke softly, eventually lifting the curse, and as she struggled to get her breathing under control he couldn't deny that a small part of him wanted her to get back up – to fight. He couldn't ignore the similarities between them. A lifetime ago it had been him in her situation; an orphan outcast thrown into a world he didn't understand, and despised for simply being there for nothing more than having the wrong surname. He didn't sympathise with her though. He'd been quick to learn the rules and play the system in Slytherin House, before taking his house mates in hand.

He was pulled from his conflicting thoughts when he caught Harry's low muttering:

"…Mother-fucking, fucking, cock sucking, piece of lubricated donkey cunt…" He raised an eyebrow.

"As amusing as I find it, I really don't care for that mouth of yours – that's something else you should keep in mind." He found himself impressed that she was still able give him such an intense glare through her pain.

"I don't give a shi…" The Dark Lord aimed a small bludgeoning hex at her stomach, knowing the muscles there would be unbearably tender right now. She groaned and curled into herself a little, but her glare was back in a second. He was thoroughly enjoying this. "Go fuc…" It was two hits this time, and Harry decided to divert her hatred to the ceiling for a moment. She really fucking detested being so weak! Her body ached with every breath, but the burning desire to rip Quirrell's arms from his body grew stronger with each gasp of air. "What… what do you want?" She asked the air above her. "This can't be right, corporal punishment was made illegal years ago!" Not that she'd even class this as corporal punishment – this was something else entirely.

"More's the pity." The Dark Lord replied as he crouched effortlessly beside her with a nasty grin. "Do you know what we say about you in the staff room? We joke about the poor, pathetic little girl that turned out to be such a disappointment to everyone." He whispered before standing once again to look down in her in derision. "Though I don't know what exactly they were expecting from a saviour who couldn't even save her own parents." He scoffed, thinking the way she clenched her jaw in reaction to his words must have been rather painful.

She stayed on her back, trying to appear completely relaxed but sending him an ugly smirk. "Did manage to get rid of the big bad dark lord though, didn't I? Makes me think your whole society is crazy if they were so afraid of some pussy that could be taken out by a…" And just like that she was in agony once again. She groaned, imagining that this time he must have added on a headache curse of some kind, because her head felt like it would plit open any second, overriding the pain throughout the rest of her body.

Voldemort's restraint was slipping: he really, _really,_ wanted to kill this girl. Never mind, he thought to himself, one day soon he show her just how fearsome Lord Voldemort could be, and he could take his time deciding if and how to kill her at that time. The temptation to use her to destroy his enemies was still there, but it was fighting with the desire to break her, to present her cowering, begging shell to the masses. Either option would crush Light morale and spread hopelessness to the population.

"What the fuck was that for?!" Harry bent forward and threw up after the resulting three hits to her tummy, while Voldemort leaned back on a righted desk and watched with disgust as she tried to spit out the acidic taste in her mouth.

Harry knew her knife was in her robes, knew that she was a decent throw too, but she didn't know whether her shaking limbs would move fast enough to be effective, nor what type of sentences were handed down to wizard murderers.

After taking a moment to gather strength, she held up a hand as though asking for a minute and slowly forced herself to her feet, which Voldemort allowed if only because he somewhat admired her strength – most children her age would already be grovelling apologies by now. And there were still those stray thoughts that wondered at her strength, wanting to see just what she could become.

When she lifted her head to face him, the raging emotion in her eyes caught him a little off guard.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked, but he ignored the question, still contemplating the fire within her. Living the way she did, her past and present, the pain she was in, her exhaustion and the struggles she faced – they should have destroyed the light behind her eyes, carved out her soul as they had his. Her bravery could be tossed aside as foolishness or naivety, but that light… it was mesmerising, and in that moment he couldn't for the life of him decide whether he wanted to destroy it or not. Maybe he did feel a shred of sympathy for her after all.

He broke from his trance when she looked away to the door.

"Why not?" He asked nastily. "You're so defenceless, so really and willing to be walked over by the entire school." She stood a little taller at that.

"I'm not letting anyone walk all over me!" She spat. "For Christ's sake, I just threatened to cut off Malfoy's balls!"

Voldemort smiled, genuinely smiled at the image that presented. Not only was Draco such a weak, flaky little thing, but the thought of Lucius' reaction to such a thing was thoroughly amusing.

"You should have done so." He suggested, still smiling. Harry opened her mouth to reply, before snapping it closed with uncertainty and taking a small step forward.

"…What?"

He laughed. "Words are such paltry things, Harry, often insufficient for adequate communication." Quickly batting away the voice in his head that questioned why on earth he was calling this child _Harry_ , he continued. "Actions speak louder than words, and have the additional benefit of remaining for longer in the mind. You should have at least taken one – made the point that you are serious, otherwise you're just a wretched mongrel runt snapping at the wolves that circle you."

"Poetic." She spat sarcastically.

He was about to respond when she lunged forward, swinging a blade toward his midsection. He'd been enjoying the current situation too much to notice how she'd inched forward, and although he had admired her spirit he'd not been expecting immediate retaliation. Couldn't the girl see she was desperately outmatched?

His quick reflexes didn't fail him and he jumped back at once, though she still managed to slice through Quirrell's robes and the tender flesh of his belly.

Harry took no time to watch for a reaction and immediately rounded the desk before diving across it to where he now stood, knife raised. The Dark Lord's demeanour had darkened dangerously, apoplectic that she would dare attack him.

Instead of casting the death curse that was itching to be released, he simply reached out as she neared him and grabbed the front of her robes, swinging her from the table while using his wand to confiscate the weapon.

Harry thrashed about in his hold, panicking about that sudden dread that consumed her – her instincts were rarely wrong, and right now they were screaming that she was in serious danger. It didn't help that that strange pressure seemed to be building around her. She only felt more unease that her efforts to escape Quirrell's grasp were met with such a lack of concern, as though he didn't feel and certainly didn't care that she gouging and scratching at his arms and hands.

"Enough!" He hissed, eyes tinted red with anger boring into hers, which made her shiver, though she only stilled when he raised her own knife against her. He smirked viciously. "You truly are a disgrace, Harry Potter: a witch using such a primitive tool to attack _me_." He pressed the flat of the blade against her cheek and dragged it down slowly, applying enough pressure for the tip to cut lightly into her skin as it went. "I could kill you right now," He whispered, watching the tiny beads of blood break free. "And so easily."

She hung in his grasp, holding onto his wrist for stability, but otherwise frozen. Was her teacher really threatening to kill her? At that moment she had no doubt he was serious, but the thought of it was absurd: things like this just didn't happen.

Without warning he slashed the blade across her belly, in the same place she'd cut him, though sure from the pain that it was deeper than her attempt. One hand released his wrist to cover the wound. The warmth that seeped through her robes and dripped over her fingers wasn't exactly welcomed but was somewhat reassuring: She'd seen the amount of blood that came from stab wounds and this was nothing, she just needed stitches.

With a snarl Voldemort tossed the girl to the floor carelessly. He'd had her in his grasp, had her life in his hands, and he'd decided to spare it. It wasn't fear of being caught that stayed his hand, though of course it did play a part. It was the look in her eyes; that indecipherable expression somewhere between shock and anger, fear and defiance, all in one and burning so very brightly.

He wanted to see more.

He would still kill her eventually – he had to – but in the meantime he wouldn't mind seeing more.

Harry looked down at the blood on her hand, and he decided to start wrapping things up. He aimed the wand at her, intent on forcing her to make an oath of secrecy, but before a word left his mouth the door swung open, and he immediately withdrew from Quirrell's mind, whispering instructions as he went.

"Pr-profossor S-Snape!" Quirrell squeaked, trying to shake the disorientation and confusion he felt.

"What is going on in here?" Snape asked, his eyes flicking to the bleeding girl before glaring menacingly at his colleague.

"N-n-now Severus, th-this i-s simp-simply…" Quirrell took a breath as his mind raced to process what his master had told him. He didn't know what had gone on between his master and the girl, but it didn't look good. "I mer-merely confronted P-Po-Potter fo-for b-being out o-of bed so late, a-and there wa-wa-was a-an i-i-incident of acci-dental m-magic." This would never work, he thought – he was doomed.

Snape's eyes remained intently focused on him for a few seconds, before diverting his attention the girl.

Harry's head had snapped to her DADA professor when she heard how he spoke to Snape: with everything that had happened, she'd not even noticed the change in the man, though now it was blaringly obvious. What was going on with Quirrell? She'd known two people with split personalities, but that pressure had left the moment Quirrell's confidence had left, so she suspected it was something different. Then again what did she know about magical mental health?

"Potter, is that what happened? Is that why you are injured?"

Grimacing against the burning aches throughout her body, she responded: "Yes professor, I got kinda battered. I think a piece of…" She turned to look pointedly at Quirrell: " _fucking_ glass caught me." No reaction to her swearing. Interesting.

"I've g-given o-out de-detentions f-f-for being out a-after c-c-curfew, b-but I I think she ne-needs to s-see Po-Poppy." Quirrell didn't like the way Snape was eyeing him. The man obviously thought something was amiss here.

"I shall take her." The dark wizard declared, stepping forward to take Harry's arm and guide her out.

"Sh-she ne-eeds n-nu-nutrition too." He had no idea why his master was in any way concerned for the dratted girl's atrocious health, but wasn't about to question an order over something so petty.

Harry watched in something of a daze as Snape nodded and led her from the room, across the castle towards the hospital wing.

Her mind was racing, and she almost felt sick from confusion. She didn't know what to do, but did not trust authority enough to ask for help – it only made situations worse. Besides, that was what the crazy old man wanted from her, never mind that he had hired Quirrell in the first place. Were there others in the school that hated her enough to hurt her, to kill her even? Should she leave; go home? No, she couldn't run away. Quirrell had to be like those men from Knockturn Alley, and no matter where she went they would still be out there: she had to stay here, to get strong enough to see off any threat.

Her doubts from this evening were gone. She knew now, all too well, that she couldn't simply disappear; she had to learn to protect herself, and she had to learn fast.


	7. The Hard Way

Months had passed since Harry's confrontation with Quirrell, but not much had changed: she still rarely slept in the dorms and still tried to keep her head down. The majority of students had moved on to other interests, but there was always someone just waiting to get a shot at her, so the levitation charm she'd learnt recently was a godsend, because now at least she could hurl things at people so as to have a chance to run away when they ganged up on her.

Snape had taken the detentions assigned by Quirrell. He still didn't trust that nothing more had transpired between them that night she was injured, but to his frustration she continued to proclaim she was fine. She was always tired and he had a suspicion she wasn't sleeping in her bed, but Harry was sneaky enough not to get caught outside the common room after hours, so he could do nothing about it. That didn't mean she didn't constantly have detentions though – usually they had something to do with her poor attitude or abysmal efforts at homework. It wasn't that Harry wasn't trying – she was excelling in all her classes – it was just she didn't really know how to do homework having never done it before, and she lacked basic writing skills. When the issue was first raised amongst the staff Dumbledore called her to his office to offer his assistance in teaching her, but she'd flat out refused, insisting she wasn't stupid and that he could go fuck himself: that landed her more detentions. She didn't mind never-ending detentions though, because it gave her a safe space to study. She figured if she wasn't the Girl-Who-Lived she'd have been suspended by now and she was right. Challenging though her behaviour could be, all the staff agreed that sending her out onto the streets again was not an option.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday and the Slytherin common room had been deserted when Harry first settled into the armchair by the fire. She was determined to spend the whole weekend studying. Her first attempts to try the spells listed in her spell book resulted in abject failure, just as all her attempts to control her powers had always failed. Determined not to be discouraged, and not having the luxury of waiting to be taught these spells, she'd visited the library and checked out a whole host of books on magical theory. Maybe if she could understand it better, she'd be able to control it – she was bored to tears after five minutes, but forced herself to continue. She took notes to stay focused and eventually things started to make sense. She'd been jumping the gun – like trying to read before she'd even learnt the alphabet. It was a pain: she needed a way to protect herself _now!_

The snobby, condescending tones of Pansy cut through her contemplative musings.

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" She looked up to find herself surrounded by several of her hateful house mates. She gave Pansy a look.

"You lack of observational skills astounds me." Harry said with an eye roll before turning back to her book.

"That's the best seat here – you can't just sit there." Pansy cried as though proclaiming some ancient law. Harry just shook her head at the ridiculousness of these children.

"Well apparently I can." She didn't look back up, hoping they would be get bored and leave. "Don't you have anywhere else to be? There must be a dog show somewhere you're meant to be in." She couldn't help herself though. Aggravating the Slytherins was just too easy, and besides, where she came from if you were challenged you had to respond or become a victim. She thought of what Quirrell had told her about actions speaking louder than words – she thought about that a lot – and was tempted to simply take a swing at Pansy, to make it clear she wouldn't put up with their shit. The problem was that Pansy was never alone, so if Harry started a fight she'd be massively outnumbered and inevitably get her arse handed to her.

"How dare you! You filthy half-blood!" The girl surprised Harry by reaching out and grabbing her hair, pulling her from her seat and causing all her work to fall scattered to the floor. She buried the wince from the pain in her scalp to smirk nastily.

"Touched a nerve, did I?" She spat, using her forearm to bat away the hand trying to pull out her roots with enough force to bruise. Her smirk only grew at hearing Pansy's cry of pain. "What? Wouldn't they let you compete this year? Can't say I blame them. If my dog looked like you I'd have it put down – save the world from having to see your ugly face." Pansy's face was turning a peculiar shade of red, so Harry stood firm in a defensive stance just waiting for another attack.

"You're one to talk Potter!" Another girl called, this one was a third year called Dawley, if Harry wasn't mistaken. "Salazar, if I looked like _you_ I'd put myself down!" Everyone laughed at the oh-so witty comeback while Harry just rolled her eyes again. She wasn't a beauty, she knew that, what with her too thin cheeks, prominent scar and hair that was always pulled back in a messy bun, and if it had been Daphne or Fay she wouldn't have been able to respond, but Dawley had a large, beak-like nose that screamed for attention.

"If you looked like me you'd save your parents a fortune in cosmetic surgery. Or is that nose a family trait?" The third year raised her wand as she stepped forward, but Harry couldn't be intimidated by a little girl. "Bet it's useful though – you must be the only one here who can smoke a cigarette in the rain!" Dawley's face contorted in rage.

"You need to learn your place…" She drew her hand back, no doubt to fire a spell and Harry tensed – ready to drop to the floor to avoid being hit. Thankfully though they were interrupted at that moment by an older Slytherin prefect, Gemma Farley.

"Ok girls, break it up." She acted the prefect, but looked only at Harry as she spoke, as though she were the one about to kick off. "Potter, Professor Quirrell wants you for detention. Now."

Harry had stepped back, a little more at ease until she heard that. She may not have been intimidated standing against a group of girls, but being alone with that psycho Quirrell was another matter altogether.

This time the detention was assigned after her refusal to attend flying lessons, and it seemed that Quirrell had drawn the short straw. It was almost enough to make her regret not going. She'd been keeping a close eye on the Defence professor, but had yet to see any further evidence of the Mr Hyde side of his personality. She could only hope he was gone for good, but of course such hope was a trap.

"But it's Saturday." She protested, but only received an expectant look in return. "Fine." Gathering up her work she decided to just take it with her instead of risk being corned in the dorms.

Thinking she was safe with a prefect standing right there she'd dropped her guard as she made her way out, and was therefore surprised to be hit with two spells in quick succession. Apart from a tingling sensation she didn't think the spell had actually done anything, but then she looked down to her hand and noticed the red spots. Lifting up her sleeve confirmed they were probably all over her body, making her look as though she had some gross infectious disease. Before she knew what she was doing, her wand was out and she spun to cast the first spell that crossed her mind:

"Calvario!" She shouted, and then stood in shock as one by one the hair of each girl present fell to the floor and left them completely bald. As the screams started Harry could only laugh. It wasn't the kind of pay-back she had in mind when studying, and would likely only serve to further antagonise them, but damn if it didn't feel good to watch their panicked, mortified faces.

Before they could gather themselves enough to retaliate, she made her getaway. Diligently keeping her head up she ignored the snickers and whispers that followed her as she walked through the busy hallways and all too soon she was entering the Defence classroom.

Voldemort looked up and grinned at the state Harry was in.

"Miss Potter, your hair is green and you seem to have contracted some form of pox. Would you care to explain yourself?" He asked, nodding to the opposite seat at his desk. He hated this girl and only wished she had actually contracted a painful disease of some sort. As it was he could clearly see this was just a prank. Pity. He could at least revel in her tense and cautious movements as she approached him, try though she did to hide it.

"Bitches'll be bitches." She replied carelessly as she took her seat, dumping her work on the floor beside her. She'd nearly groaned when she heard his voice and the realisation she'd have to go another round with Mr Hyde settled. Out of view, her hand was wrapped tightly around the knife in her pocket, open and ready to be used at a moment's notice. She hoped he wouldn't try anything in broad daylight with students milling around, but who knew for sure? "Got them back though."

"Language!" He almost hissed menacingly. "Or do I need to remind you how little I care for such speech?" She supressed the gulp but shook her head slowly and with narrowed eyes. She really had been trying to curb the swearing around the staff, but it was so natural for her to speak that way.

"'Bitches' isn't a swear word." She defended, and he couldn't help but admire her bravery as she looked right at him. He merely shook his head at her ignorance.

She gasped loudly as the knife was suddenly pulled from her pocket, the blade slicing across her palm as it went, before finally resting on the desk before him. Clenching her now bloody hand she brought it to rest on her lap, ignoring the burning sting to glare hatefully at her so-called teacher. On top of that, she'd only been here a minute and already her head was starting to ache.

"Now, now, none of that." He mocked. "You really shouldn't be playing with knives – you could hurt yourself."

She scowled. "And that's your job, right?"

"Quite." She sighed and sat back a little, trying her damnedest to appear unfazed, and accepted the cloth he handed to her, before wrapping her hand tightly. "Do try not to bleed on my floors – you'll only have to clear it up." Something in the way he spoke made her believe he would enjoy making her do such a thing. "I'm surprised you came so willingly." He commented lightly, though it was the truth. He'd been expecting her to avoid him at all costs after their previous encounter. His host had been sick with worry after Snape took her away, and even Voldemort had stayed ready to flee at a moment's notice. However the girl continued to surprise him and hadn't told a soul about what he'd done to her. He wondered if she didn't have death wish.

"I don't scare easily." She replied with confidence. He really did admire the fire in her – almost as much as he hated her. "I've known men who are much scarier than you – the kind of men who'd chop you up just because they were having a bad day." His predatory smile made her shiver. Oh if she only knew, he thought. "There're a lot of animals out there." She continued with less ease.

Letting her mistaken opinion rest for now, Voldemort moved on to why she was here and asked about her reluctance to ride a broom. She just scoffed at him.

"If you'd seen a strung out crack-whore take a swan dive from the fifth floor you wouldn't want to risk it either." She looked away for a second. "It's not pretty." Completely dismissing the gruesome death of a muggle, he was about to respond that flying lessons at Hogwarts were perfectly safe, but remembered the death defying incident with the Longbottom boy and knew she'd just throw that back in his face.

"I'm not too keen on brooms either, but it's best to at least know how to ride one – you never know when it might provide a useful getaway." Trying to figure out his angle she stared at him for a few moments before giving a begrudging nod –his argument made sense.

He moved on, questioning whether she had been taking the potions prescribed by Pomfrey after unkindly pointing out how ill she looked.

"Of course." Feeling a little too vulnerable without her knife, Harry's hand flew to her wand when Quirrell's face darkened and he leaned forward.

"Do not lie to me." He seethed and she opened her mouth to counter when he continued. "I always know when I'm being lied to. If you try to do so again I will make you regret it immensely."

Rubbing her head harshly, Harry sneered. "It's none of your business." She snapped. "I don't have to tell you anything!" She flew to her feet with her wand raised when he took out his own, but she was too slow and he fired a misty white spell at her, causing her to fall back into the chair immediately.

After hitting the girl with a compulsion charm, Voldemort sat back with a smirk.

"You were saying?" He laughed. The girl was sorely mistaken if she believed she had the right to keep anything from him. "Now, why haven't you been cooperating with Pomfrey?"

"I have an aversion to taking anything, because I've see what drugs can do to people." The words poured out through clenched teeth.

"Potions are not drugs, and you need them." He eyed her a moment. "What else – some personal experience perhaps?"

Her teeth clenched harder as she tried to refrain from answering and telling him of one of the worst things she'd been through. He raised an eyebrow.

"Impressive," He said quietly, almost to himself, before hitting her with another, stronger spell. It was moments like this when he remembered why he so wanted to see what she'd become if given the opportunity to grow up.

"When I was nine these two guys held me down and injected me with heroin. They wanted to, well you know. Even doped up I managed to get away before passing out, but my friends wouldn't listen and were furious that I used and kicked me out. Coming down off gear while hiding out in a graveyard isn't exactly my happiest memory." The memories of that graveyard were clear in her mind, as was the memory of how poorly she'd been. The graveyard was pitch black at night and therefore relatively safe for she could easily hide, and open mausoleums were a blessing when it rained. She couldn't even derive any satisfaction from the way Quirrell's eyes widened slightly at her story.

Voldemort was most certainly _not_ feeling sorry for this child who'd destroyed him as she recounted her experience with such a feigned lack of care... Nor was he in anyway moved that every time he learned something new about her life it was worse than the last, or that her life appeared to be one trial after another…. No he was only angry that vile lowly muggles had gotten away with treating a witch this way… That's all it was! He told himself that whatever he learned from her now could be used against her in the future. Maybe that would extinguish that light from her eyes… if he chose to do so.

With a furrowed brow, she watched warily as his mild shock morphed into anger and that strange heaviness about the room was amplified.

"Have _you_ ever taken drugs?" Harry asked to change the subject and maybe find out why this man was so nuts.

"Of course not!" He snapped, still a little distracted by his conflicting thoughts. He did hate her – that was a fact. He also wanted her to suffer, so maybe his problem was that he wanted to be the one to crush the girl and simply resented that other's had tried.

"Are you sure?" She pressed in a tone that told him she doubted it.

"Yes of course I'm sure, foolish girl! Why do you ask?" She smirked, happy to have gotten a rise from him, and he wished he'd waited until night to summon her – he simply couldn't risk cursing her with so many people in the hallways. Although…

He flicked his wand and several painful sores appeared along her arm, causing her to let out a quiet hiss. She'd already been pranked, so he'd use that. People would just assume it was more of the same.

"Jesus! I'm just trying to figure out your psycho split fucking personality." She hissed again as more sores appeared further up her arm and along her shoulder. If looks could kill he imagined he'd be reduced to smouldering ash by the glare she sent him. "It's ok," She said, actually trying to be understanding even as she wanted to stab him in the chest. "I knew this guy Richard who had a split personality and he…" She hissed again as the sores extended down her back and across to the other shoulder.

"I can keep this up all day." He warned darkly. "And wouldn't be challenged if I gave you detentions every night this week." It was somewhat of an empty threat, because since Halloween Severus had been keeping too close an eye on Voldemort's host. Quirrell was pathetic and he made sure to make his displeasure clear. The troll he'd led into the castle was subdued easily after the students were moved to safety, so even if Severus hadn't headed him off, Quirrell wouldn't have had time to get much further than the three headed dog.

The implications of his words affected Harry more than she'd like to admit. She didn't doubt he would set about torturing her every night if he wanted to. Moved by the threat, she pointed her wand at the heavy tome behind him, ready to whack the back of his head and make a run for it.

She never finished the first word of the incantation.

Quirrell suddenly looked very angry, but there was a tugging of his lips as he tried not to smile. "Foolish." He informed her lightly, before hitting her with another two silent spells. For a second she thought about how useful silent casting would be, but then pain erupted across her skin. It felt like salt being poured on the sores he'd created and when she tried to open her mouth to cry out in shock and pain she found she couldn't; the prick had sealed her lips shut! "Are you done?" He asked in that same light and pleasant tone, to which she nodded, not really having any choice. "Good, then why don't you tell me why you're reading up on magical theory far beyond your year? I would have thought books on basic grammar and sentence structure were more your level." He commented, summoning her books and notes to the desk, before scanning through them with rude and disparaging comments.

What followed during the next hour confused both student and Dark Lord. Somewhere between mocking her attempts to get stronger, Voldemort got swept up in the subject and began actually explaining the workings of magic to his enemy. Harry was also swept up in his passionate, knowledgeable monologues. He spoke of how magic was only limited to your own imagination and willpower; of all the miraculous things one could achieve if were smart enough not to be consumed by the more dangerous magics; and about how there was no 'good' or 'evil' magic – it was all just power waiting to be used.

By the time they finished Harry had sores down her other arm too – from the times she'd try to interrupt with questions, but she didn't care at that moment. Harry was enthralled: it was everything she wanted and more.

Before dismissing her, he thought back to her lack of cooperation regarding her health.

"Go and see Pomfrey and restart your treatment." When he saw her open her mouth to object he continued. "You are weak and have brittle bones from a lack of adequate nutrition growing up. If you don't mend the damage now, you'll find yourself far too breakable once you set foot outside these walls." She considered his words, because being attacked by dark wizards was something she was very much concerned about. "Take the potions – I'll know if you haven't." There was another dark warning in his voice that made her glare, even though inside she knew it was a warning she'd probably heed.

Voldemort watched the girl finally leave with a frown. There was such potential in her. Even without knowledge of the prophecy, it was clear she was destined to be great. What a waste.

Harry only made it down the hall before colliding with someone, and she groaned as her robes brushed harshly over her injured arm.

"Wow, looks like someone got you good!" A cheery voice proclaimed. She looked up to see two identical red heads.

"You did manage to avoid it for an impressive amount of time though." The other twin proclaimed. Harry knew these were the Weasley twins – their reputation for pranking preceded them.

Sneering, she straightened up and tried to move past them. "Well if you want a shot you'll have to wait your fucking turn." They both held up their hands in mock surrender.

"Perhaps then we can be of assistance, oh Princess." She rounded back on them.

"Don't call me that! I'm not the Potter Princess, not by a long shot!"

"Ok, ok! It's just that we know every trick in the book…"

"Every trick and every counter…"

"And we just thought we could be of service, oh Pauper." Harry had to fight the smile threatening to break free when she heard her new title.

"Why? What do you want in return?" She asked warily.

"There's a guy in your House named Pucey. We want you to help us get access to him." That seemed reasonable enough: a favour for a favour. She knew Pucey. He never went out of his way to be mean to her, but he never helped her either.

"Ok, change me back and tell me what you need." Their grins were impressively sinister. They changed her back without much trouble, though they could do nothing for the sores and suggestion she visit Mme Pomfrey for a salve.

Before they left, the one that introduced himself as George nodded down the corridor she'd come from. "Were you in with Quirrell? Why didn't you ask him to help?"

Harry actually snorted. "It never crossed my mind." She lied: Quirrell would never help her, in fact she was sure that were she to ask he'd just make it worse. Fucking psycho!


	8. Progress

"You know it's a sign of maturity to ask for help when you need it."

Harry's hand paused in her almost frantic writing and she looked across the table to Millicent with frown – offense obviously taken.

"So you think I'm immature?" She challenged, to which Millie raised her hands in surrender, though clearly amused by the hostile tone.

"That – didn't sound how I meant it. I'm just saying you should take advantage of the people offering to help." She rolled her eyes at Harry's glower. "Oh, don't look at me like that! You must have hexed half of Slytherin House in the last week alone! It's not sustainable. And I know you aren't used to letting people help you, but you should accept it where you can. It'll only make life easier."

"Yeh, until those helping hands turn to beat the shit out of you, or start asking for things in return."

"Merlin Harry, you're so cynical."

"I'm a realist." Harry had been rather Hex-happy lately. While she continued to research and develop her own understanding and uses of magic, the twins had taught her a whole range of spells to keep the wolves at bay. Ha! See, she could accept help! …when there was a clear understanding of what was required in payment. Pucey had missed a quidditch match after his feet swelled up and became heavy as rocks.

"Well what about me and Daphne? We must have offered a dozen times for you to sleep in our beds. No one would attack you with us right there, but instead of getting a decent night's sleep in an actual bed you go off and sleep Merlin-knows where." Daphne and Millie had been good to her for the most part. Millie was a half blood and Daphne came from a neutral family and Harry had learned the hard way that such things mattered. Millie herself could be quite scrappy – Harry could appreciate that. They'd even upset their long-time friends a few times by sticking up for her. She was a little moved by that, because she wouldn't have gotten involved in someone else's fight, but that didn't mean Harry was comfortable relying on them – she couldn't rely on anyone, so decided to wait it out. The aggression and hostility towards her was always there, just beneath the surface, but open attacks had been dying down as time continued to move forward, and had almost dried up completely once she started fighting back. Most of her hexes now were thrown because she _really_ hated those looks of disgust and condescension. Icy, superior Slytherin masks she would accept, but she still had a problem with these pampered little children looking down on her. It wouldn't be long until she'd be able to booby-trap her bed, so that was something.

When Harry failed to respond, Millie sighed dramatically. "Fine, be stubborn. What are you working on anyway: 'energy transformation and conversion of magic'? Little heavy isn't it?" She asked, leaning over to read the topmost book.

"I'm just trying to get my head around the idea of magic." Harry said lightly. In truth she'd learned a lot over the last few months. As much as she hated Mr Hyde, she had been inspired and motivated by his impassioned words, and ever since had thrown herself into experimenting. One of the more basic things he'd said was particularly useful: that wizards only struggle to use magic because by the time it manifested they had become too reliant on common human abilities such as movement, and so that is always their first thought when something needed to be done. They would subconsciously direct their muscles to pick up a pen, for example, instead of directing their magic. It was only because of this lack of control that wands and spells were invented. Wands drew the wizard's energy, forcibly focusing it to one point and therefore amplifying its power. Certain wand movements made directing different types of spell easier and the words used helped the caster visualise what might otherwise seem incomprehensible or unnatural. Considering all this, Harry had taken his advice to stop placing barriers on her own imagination, to stop believing that anything was impossible.

And it was working. Slowly, but surely, her efforts were bearing fruit.

"Do you want to see?" She asked Mille tentatively, who nodded though not sure what Harry meant to show her.

Harry quickly tore a section of parchment and proceeded to draw a large, crude circle with another smaller circle in the middle, before getting up to stand it atop the fire place.

"Check this out." She said with a grin, before flipping open her knife and throwing it – it landed within the larger circle, but in the upper left corner. Millicent pulled a face.

"Erm… what am I looking at?" It was a decent throw – certainly better than she could ever hope to achieve, but about what she'd expect from her roughian friend.

"Watch." Was all Harry said as she retrieved the knife. She relaxed her posture, closed her eyes, and let out a long steady breath. What Millie couldn't see was how Harry felt out her magic, trying to imagine it as a part of her being, starting in her mind and feeling down to the tips of her finger and toes. The knife flew from her hand a second after her eyes opened and landed barely a millimetre from the bullseye.

Millie's eyebrows shot up in response. "So what was different the second time?"

Harry turned to her with a wicked self-satisfied smirk. "Magic."

It was far from perfected, but it was still an achievement and things could only get better.

* * *

While Harry had been distrustful of Dumbledore before Christmas, she outright hated him afterwards.

The old man had flat out refused to allow her to return home for the holidays, stating it would have been irresponsible for him to knowingly send a student out into the streets. She was furious. What the hell business was it of his where she went when not at school. Ok, she knew that was a little unfair, but why was it that authority always tried to interfere? She reckoned at least one other student at Hogwarts was being sent home to an abusive or negligent environment worse than hers!

To make matters even worse he'd reported her situation to the magical government and now her fate was apparently out of her hands and she really _really_ hated that. So now she had to wait for people she didn't know to decide who of all the other people she didn't know she'd be sent to at the end of the school year. Well, whatever. She'd run away before, she could do it again and anyone who thought differently was a fool.

If that wasn't enough – and she'd made clear that it certainly was enough, he'd then gone on to hand her an invisibility cloak belonging to her father – belonging to her.

"So why do you have it?" She'd asked instantly, always assuming the worst.

"Your father left it in my possession before he died." He gave her a sympathetic smile. Snape had told him how grateful she'd seemed to have a simple vault key that had belonged to her parents, so he could only imagine how hungry she was to be given something more substantial – he wasn't prepared for her suspicious gaze.

"And why are you giving it to me now?" She asked slowly, though she hadn't hesitated to take the cloak and hold it tightly to her, as though expecting him to try to snatch it back.

"Well it's Christmas Harry."

She held his gaze easily but didn't give an inch, refusing even to react to his familiarity. "So you're gifting it to me, not returning it?" This guy was unbelievable: to stop her returning home and then 'gifting' her with something rightfully hers. Given his previous attempts to insert himself into her life, she could only assume this was another ploy. A dark outrage swirled in her eyes and wasn't missed by the wise, knowledgeable man. It seemed he was no closer to earning the girl's trust!

"I thought you might find it useful in moving about at night undetected." He eyes twinkled with mischievous indulgence and she had to fight valiantly not to tear her new cloak in irritation. So the headmaster of the school knew she was sneaking out to sleep in old classrooms and closets and waited until now to mention it – she couldn't quite get her head around that one. She thought he would have been all over this, trying to help, to come to her 'rescue', so this was odd.

Unable to deduce what he was up to, Harry avoided the subject altogether. "I guess possession being nine tenths of the law carries weight in this world too."

"There's only one world. Viewing it as two only leads to division, alienation and ignorance. The past shows us these things are most dangerous." If he couldn't tease out her cooperation, he at least had to ensure she understood this – that when the time came she chose to fight for the right side.

"Trust me, there's two." She argued with confidence. "And maybe that division is unfortunate, but that doesn't mean it's not valid."

"But we are all people, Harry – muggles and wizards alike. Any differences we have should be embraced to make us all stronger." She snorted.

"You're crazy. People, muggles, hate each other because of differences in wealth or race or anything else you can think of. From what I've seen wizards hate each other because of blood of all things! You think if muggles and wizards inhabited the same world there wouldn't be another very big reason to hate? I bet it would get real bloody real fast." He sighed heavily – at least she wasn't demonising muggles.

"Only if we allowed ignorance free reign."

"You might want to educate the kids under your care before you set out healing the world." She sneered. He was definitely out of touch with reality. God, she hated to think about what would happen if her friends new about her new world. They joked about it when it was just a bunch of strange events, and she knew a few of them would think it was awesome, but a lot more would be deeply uncomfortable, think her a freak like her family did. Then there were others she knew who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage and use her new powers for their own ends. However she imagined most people would feel threatened, and that never ended well.

"Do you hold any prejudices?" He pushed on, deciding he could find out what damage he'd need to undo.

"No, doesn't matter if you're from rags or riches, black skin or white skin – everyone's the same when they're rattling, and turning themselves inside out from both ends." No, she thought, everyone was the same: they were all weak. "I just hate people who treat me like a kid." She gave him a pointed look.

Harry didn't understand why they were even talking about this. She had that feeling again that she was missing something important and boy did it rankle. Dumbledore could see how frustrated she was getting and ended the conversation. At least he'd discerned there was no immediate threat of her turning against muggles in general and this was the longest conversation he'd had with her, so that was progress.

* * *

Voldemort hadn't asked to meet with Harry again – he was too disturbed by the _slight_ sympathy and solidarity he'd felt for her during their last two exchanges. He could also begrudgingly appreciate the progress she was making in mastering her not insubstantial power. The girl had proved she wasn't above hurting people who challenged her, and didn't pull her punches. In any other situation she'd be a prime candidate for recruitment. There was a problem though: while she had friends in Slytherin yet mostly kept to herself, she also seemed comfortable chatting with Dunbar, whose family were persistently Light.

He watched her through Quirinus' eyes as he sat lazily at the man's desk while the children worked in groups to research vampires. The way her jaw clenched every time that mudblood Granger corrected someone or started to lecture was amusing – definitely something he could use in an effort to recruit her – which he wasn't.

Harry closed her book, abandoning all pretence of studying. She was tired, irritated and thoroughly fed up with her Defence headache. She looked to the front of the room to where Quirrell sat, apparently watching her, in a pose she knew to associate with Mr Hyde. She wanted to groan. Instead she kept her face hard and raised her eyebrows at him, before clenching her teeth and standing, grabbing her notes and walking to the front of the room.

She'd been planning to call him out on these headaches for a long time, but wasn't willing to be alone with the man unless absolutely necessary. She could use this opportunity though. The room was full of students who noisily got on with their latest project, so surely she was safe.

Approaching his desk she spoke loud enough for the nearby students to hear: "Professor, you couldn't help me with this, could you?" She placed the parchment down and leaned over it – looking to any onlooker to be drawing attention to something written, but secretly lowering her voice and glaring at her teacher.

"Could you stop? I get it, you hate me, just give it a rest already!" She hissed.

Voldemort raised his own eyebrow and leaned back as he considered her.

"I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about." That just caused her scowl to deepen.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! These f- _freaking_ headaches! Cut it out!"

"I assure you, I have never inflicted such a thing on you." He eyed her scar – ok, so maybe once, but that wasn't really intentional.

She noticed his eye line and scoffed loudly, drawing attention so quickly quieting down again.

"Yeh right. You have no idea why my scar hurts so badly every time I see you!" She'd believe that when pigs flew.

Her words surprised the Dark Lord. So his mere presence affected her scar, did it? How interesting… She watched with growing unease as the side of his mouth pulled up in a dark harrowing mockery of a smile.

"Sit down Harry." She opened her mouth, but he was quick to shut her down: "Unless of course you want a detention?" Too easy.

He watched her storm away with a smirk. How very interesting…


	9. Thunder Road

"You're not listening to me!" Hermione hated being ignored, especially when she was right about something – which she generally was. Harry simply hated Hermione and so turned away from her entirely to ask Daphne about the very thing the Gryffindor had been trying to explain – sharing a grin with her friend when she heard the infuriated huff behind her.

"You're such a child!" Hermione proclaimed before trying to get back to her own study. Harry spun round, ready to shut up the arrogant girl.

"And you're an insufferable know-it-all whose whole sense of self-worth is dependant to knowing more than anyone else. Is your confidence really so fragile that you have to use books to batter anyone that makes you feel inferior?" Harry scoffed. "You're pathetic. It's no wonder nobody likes you!" It was mean, but in Harry's defence she was expecting the other girl to thrown her own lack of popularity back in her face. Instead she was surprised to see Hermione's eyes wet with tears before the bushy haired girl stood to quickly flee the room, mumbling something about needing the bathroom to Quirrell as she left, Harry's eyes rolled to the ceiling before looking cautiously to her defence professor.

Harry's scar had been suspiciously pain-free throughout the lesson. She couldn't know that Voldemort was experimenting with his own ability to affect her, and so she was taken unawares when he focused on his rage and watched as she doubled over in pain. Having the ability to cause pain without lifting a finger was a thrill he appreciated, but it did raise a host of questions.

"Harry, are you alright?" Daphne asked while placing a tentative hand on her friend's shoulder. Harry straightened up as soon as the pain eased and shook her head.

"I'm fine."

"You know, you shouldn't be so hard on Hermione." Fay said as soon as Harry relaxed back into her chair. "She's only trying to help, and this world is new to her – she's probably still trying to make sense of it herself."

Harry snorted crudely. "She's had plenty enough time to adapt! And if you think her little intellectual superiority complex is new you are sadly mistaken.

"Harry's right, Dunbar." Daphne added, not even trying to hide her distain in talking to the 'blood traitor'. She didn't particularly buy into blood prejudice, but didn't oppose it because it kept families like hers in power and people like Fay were a threat to that.. "Though people like her will always feel threatened when faced with the reality of the world. It's rather sad actually." Harry didn't entirely agree with the wording, but Daphne's overall point rang true with her. Being taken out of the 'normal' world to live in an entirely new one was challenging, and people like herself and Hermione couldn't help but react to that challenge – whether with aggression or knowledge. The system of bringing in muggle-raised wizards was woefully lacking.

"Well maybe she has reason to feel threatened!" Fay defended. "You can't even say she's safe from your own house, never mind everything else that's going on in the school right now."

"What do you mean? What else is going on?" Daphne asked. She didn't say a thing to defend her house because Fay was right: Slytherin certainly didn't welcome mudbloods at Hogwarts.

"Merlin, you really don't know? You haven't wondered what's on the third floor or what that whole farce on Halloween was about?"

"I'm pretty sure that's none of our business!" Daphne snapped, not caring in the least.

"Yeh, whatever's up there is meant to be dangerous – it's Dumbledore's responsibility so let him worry about it!" Harry agreed. She wasn't about to get involved in something dangerous for no good reason. In her experience, people who stuck their nose into things that didn't concern them got hurt.

"Well _I'm_ interested." Fay said, flicking a lock of hair back and looking every bit the pureblood. "Me, Hermione and the Weasleys went to take a look."

"Erm, why?" Harry really didn't understand why anyone would go looking for trouble when it seemed more than happy to seek you out anyway. In spite of this, her interest was caught by Fay's following words.

"We found a giant three headed dog." Fay declared with dramatic flourish, ignoring Harry's question. She leaned forward ominously "It was guarding something."

Very much intrigued by this new information, Harry was about to respond when she was hit with another agonising headache. It lasted longer this time and when it finally ended there were tears of pain prickling at her eyes. Setting her jaw in a hard line she turned back to her work, determined not to give Quirrell the satisfaction of responding – he was obviously playing with her and she wanted nothing more than to hex him to oblivion, but she knew from her last several experiences with him that wasn't possible.

Later that night Harry was having a rare but fairly pleasant, civilized conversation with her house mates, when she made the mistake of commenting on Pansy's dress. If she was at home it would have simply been part of a sarcastic back and forth, but she should have known such a comment would be taken as an attack by these privileged girls.

"How can you even say that while wearing… that?" Harry looked down to her torn jeans and oversized t-shirt she thought had been nicked from Sean at some point. She shrugged.

"I'm a style icon. Can't you tell?" She tried laughing it off in the hopes moving past this and getting back to a stress-free evening.

"I can tell you don't care, and that you should!" Harry let it go and Pansy seemed glad to have the opportunity to list everything Harry should be doing to present herself correctly – as an heiress should. In Pansy's own way she was trying to be helpful and seeing as she wasn't being looked down on for once, Harry listened politely. At one point she even began to ponder why it had never occurred to her to make any changes. She supposed it was because she'd always assumed she'd be back on the streets sooner or later and therefore didn't see the point.

* * *

After everyone else had retied to the dorms, Harry found herself wondering through the halls. Things were settled enough that she dared sleep in the dorms – with the added reassurance that her drapes were spelled to deliver a powerful sting to anyone who touched them. Harry wanted something more, but at least the cries of shock would wake her before anyone could try anything.

She walked aimlessly and soon found herself on the third floor. Fay's words rang in her mind: she didn't care what the dog was hiding, but she did want to see it. After all, it wasn't every day you came across a three headed dog.

Cautiously she opened the door, only to fall back on her arse after being faced with a snarling, and indeed incredibly dangerous creature. She sat staring at the monster trying to force its way through the door – her heart pounding loudly in her chest.

"I thought you didn't scare easily." Mr Hyde's mocking tone reached through her deafening heartbeat, and she leaned back on one hand to look at him, her groan barely supressed.

"I'm not scared." She replied hastily, which only made him smirk. "I was just startled." Forcing herself to remain nonchalant, she eyed Quirrell warily as he walked closer. "It's a little more aggressive than I was expecting." She said with a nod to the dog.

"The dim-witted grounds keeper calls this beast Fluffy." He sneered, and she scoffed in agreement that it was a ridiculous name. "Though there's no need for you to be so _scared_ ," She scowled – she wasn't scared damn it, and for reasons she didn't understand she needed him to know that. "Fluffy is as simple minded as his master, and can be tamed with nothing more than music."

"Truly?" Harry tried to read the lie in his face as she pushed herself up. Surely he was up to something – tricking her into a situation that would see her mauled to death – but she couldn't find the lie, and so decided to give it a shot while maintaining a safe distance.

"The screen door slams. Mary's dress waves." She began to sing – doubt clear in her voice at first. "Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays." Voldemort felt Quirrell's face crease into a frown. Her young, untrained voice was charming – almost enchanting even and he could almost hear the simple notes of a piano echo through the empty hall. It felt as though the air was pleasantly charged. "Don't turn me home again; I just can't face myself alone again." She must have been unconsciously employing a type of magic he wasn't familiar with. The magic of music perhaps. He could feel it bushing past him as it filled the area. It was a subtle, but no doubt intricate bit of magic and he nearly found himself mourning her wasted potential.

The door slowly swung back as the dog retreated, but she could just about see the three heads resting tiredly on the floor and so made several careful steps closer as she continued to sing. With her heart in her mouth she opened the door to find the animal sleeping and turned for a second to Quirrell with a bright smile. "Show a little faith, there's magic in the night. You ain't a beauty but hey you're alright…"

Voldemort froze for a moment when he saw her smile for the first time. It was a genuine smile, one full of joy and excitement and he couldn't help but feel it suited the child more than her usual scowls and glares. He followed her painfully slow steps with intrigue – almost entranced himself, wondering how she could sing like this when her life was so utterly miserable.

"…waste your summer praying in vain for a saviour to rise from these streets." She cautiously knelt by the dog and ran hand down one of its heads with a feather's touch at first. "Well now I'm no hero, that's understood. All the redemption I can offer girl is beneath this dirty hood…" He stopped just behind her. She was a mystery to him. She was his fated enemy who continued to prove herself unconquerable, and while it was certainly bothersome, he felt that strange begrudging respect for her grow. "… well the night's busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere…" Her words were true in that she was no hero, so what did that make her? He just couldn't decide.

Seemingly forgetting her hatred for a moment, she turned back to him and nodded towards the dog, as though inviting him to pet it. He scoffed loudly, but still she continued to sing: "oh-oh come take my hand. We're riding out tonight to case the Promised Land. Oh-oh Thunder Road, oh Thunder Road, oh Thunder Road. Lying out there like a killer in the sun. Hey I know it's late, we can make it if we run…"

Throughout his time here at Hogwarts, he'd entertained his hatred and anger; he'd focused on her role in the accursed prophesy and in his downfall, but now he wondered whether he should give more consideration to his idea of recruiting her… He felt uncomfortable with this uncertainty and decided it was time to go. He would think about it more once he was away from this bizarrely charming magic. Reaching down to place a hand on her shoulder to gain her attention he frowned, for she was still far too thin – the large top hung halfway down her arm and gave a clear view of well-defined bones.

"And my car's out back if you're ready to take that long walk, from your front porch to my front seat. The door's open but the ride ain't free…OW!" She screamed in shock at the sudden agonising burn on her shoulder and swung round to see Quirrell learning over her. So shocked was she that she missed the animal stirring behind her until she felt its jaw snap shut not one inch from her face. Suddenly Quirrell had hold of her top and she was flying backwards with him – out into the safety of the hallway. The professor was apparently much quicker to adapt and act than Harry. She heard the door slam.

"Ow," She repeated with a glare as he tossed her to the floor. "What the bloody hell did you do that for?" He silenced her with a hard stare and she quickly got to her feet, her head spinning with the sudden change in mood and heart thudding once more after the near miss with Fluffy.

"You're a terrible singer." He spat, choosing not to answer her question because he wasn't sure himself. He was angry that he'd gotten so caught up in her magic. He should have let her be eaten and saved himself any trouble in deciding what on earth he was to do with her.

"Well excuse me! My personal fu- tutor will be devastated to hear that!" She snarked. God, this guy couldn't even let her enjoy seeing a real life Cerberus, could he? Arsehole!

"Get back to your dorm." The command was unyielding and his eyes dangerously dark, and she shivered under the intensity of both, before marching past him – being sure to shove him as she went.

"With pleasure!" She growled.

He watched her disappear around the corner and when he was sure she was gone he opened his fist to reveal the charred skin of Quirrell's hand. It had cracked and peeled as though burnt when he touched her, and though this presented another mystery, it also gave him a direction in solving the puzzle she presented – this was obviously the work of defensive magic. He needed to think on it, to research whether this could be linked to her sensitive scar and indeed, to how she'd managed to survive the death curse. Once he knew what he was dealing with he would be able to circumvent it, and then the seemingly indestructible little girl would be just as weak and _mortal_ as anyone else.

* * *

 **#Song: Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen**

 **xx**


	10. Paranoia

"You mean that _thing_ just fell asleep?!" Fay asked in disbelief after Harry shared her experience of Fluffy with her and the twins, well an edited version of her experience – one where she just happened to remember reading about how to calm a Cerberus…

"I don't suppose you took a peek at what it was guarding?" George asked with a grin, excitement at the prospect of finding out gleaming in his eyes.

"Nope. I don't particularly give a fuck either."

"Merlin, I'm dying to know what's down there!" Fred chimed in. "I bet it's dangerous."

"Or valuable!" His twin added.

"I think 'dying' is the key word there." Harry laughed. "I'm not above nicking something, but if you die trying what's the use?" She was curious, but not curious enough to put her life on the line! Whatever, it was fun to think about, and provided a nice light subject to talk about over lunch. Her previous exposure to animals consisted mostly of stray dogs and rats – lots and lots of fucking rats.

"I have a theory, well the start of a theory." Hermione said as sat beside her – as though she was welcome – and helped herself to a few sandwiches.

"I'm sure you do." Harry mumbled under her breath, but of course Hermione was sitting close enough to hear. The girl wasn't deterred though and went on to recount a conversation she'd had with Hagrid in which he'd let slip that whatever was being hidden had something to do Nicholas Flammel.

"Who's Hagrid?" Fay asked.

"The grounds-keeper. He knows you, by the way." Hermione added with a nod to Harry. "He knew your parents."

Harry groaned. "Great. Someone else who thinks they know more about me than me. So who's Nicholas Flammel?" It was actually fun to think about what was beneath that trap door, though only recreationally. If it truly was something dangerous, why would it be kept in a school? Why not at a secret army base? Did wizards have secret army bases?

"Hagrid's actually really nice." The book worm defended, and Harry bet he was – he named a monster Fluffy after all! "And well, I don't know." The twins broke into fits of exaggerated laughter, and Harry couldn't hide her own snicker.

"You don't know?"

" _You_ don't know?" The twins asked as Hermione's cheeks reddened.

"Congratulations, that must have been a big step for you." Harry laughed and, having finished her lunch, forced herself to drink the nutrient potion she affectionately referred to as 'Health Goo' – it was worse than old mayonnaise, but she'd suffer the foul taste if it made her stronger.

"I don't know everything! No one does." Harry bet Mr Hyde knew. Rationally she knew he couldn't know everything, but by Christ, he knew enough!

"I'll alert the media." Harry replied dryly, though she did wonder about this admission of weakness, of what someone like Hermione would surely view as a weakness. Maybe she'd taken Harry's previous criticisms to heart. The poor girl was doomed if she was taking advice from Harry – she couldn't even get a grip on her own life and was in no position to guide anyone! Well, whatever was going on with the girl, it was a small improvement and Harry would take it. Anything for a quiet life.

* * *

Harry held her hand beneath the frigid water of the Dark Lake. The bones in her hand were aching from the chill and her skin was numb, but she could still just about feel the smooth pressure of motion as she wiggled her fingers beneath the surface.

"What are you doing out here Miss Potter?" Came a dark drawl. For a moment she didn't respond, annoyed with herself for not having noticed Snape's approach. Eventually though she stood and flicked her arm free of excess water before turning to face him with a sigh. She suspected he was going to try to 'help' her again. She thought he'd given up on her, but apparently not.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She returned.

"It's rude to answer a question with a question." Snape had been conflicted about whether to approach the young girl when he first spotted her on his way down to gather bursting mushrooms from the forest.

Harry shrugged, unabashed. "Forgive me, I'm usually terribly polite." She responded with such sincerity he had to fight back a small smile. "I was enjoying the air: it's so crisp and clear up here." It was true, and she wondered if she'd notice the difference when she got home. The air in the factory was rank, but she'd grown accustomed to it before. For some reason the thought of it scared her – like being here was robbing her of the ability to survive in the real world, of what she still thought of as the real world.

"Aren't you cold?" Snape eyed her standard school robe, under which she was wearing the same tattered muggle attire she usually wore. Did she even bring a winter robe or coat?

Yes, she was cold. "Neh, I'm fine."

The girl wasn't making conversation easy, but he pushed on regardless. "I thought you'd be spending the weekend with your friends." He'd been keeping a close eye on her and was relieved the general hostility she inspired was still being kept at bay, and that she'd even carved out a few friendships. She was annoying as annoying can be, but she had enough to deal with without being ostracized by her peers. He knew how that felt.

"Uh-Uh." She agreed, struggling to see why that was any of his damn business. Snape saw her continued reluctance and fought back a scowl – it wasn't like he didn't have better things to be doing than to be dealing with a difficult little girl! Dumbledore had told him it was best to let her be, to wait until she was ready to come to them, but Snape simply didn't agree. The headmaster must have noticed how proficient she'd become over the last few months; he must have heard the rumours of her hexing other students with spells beyond her year, so why he couldn't see the danger was a mystery to Snape. It was obvious to him that the girl had a yearning to learn, to get powerful, and he knew how dangerous such a desire could be if not guided properly. He also knew Dumbledore had a lot invested in bringing Potter on side, and so had reached the conclusion that he did notice all these things, and that the wily old man was therefore up to something. It was no doubt something advantageous, but Snape wasn't comfortable with the girl being maneuvered without her knowledge – she wasn't generally hard to read and he knew if she ever found out it could backfire spectacularly.

Still, he had managed to bury all his doubts and concerns by reminding himself he had given the old man his allegiance, and that he had to have faith Dumbledore knew what he was doing. And so after his initial attempts to assist her, he'd backed off. Lately however his doubts had grown too incessant and obtrusive, and they'd been that way since he noticed how close Dunbar and Granger were. He couldn't place what exactly was making him nervous – it was just a feeling he couldn't shake. He was glad she was befriending lighter leaning students, as that was surely the safer option, but that didn't really match her personality at all.

"I'm sure you've learnt by now of the political nature of the wizarding world?" He asked, unsure of how to phrase his concerns without giving them away entirely.

"I guess." Harry responded with equal uncertainty, wishing the man would just get to the point.

"And you know of the various expectations the opposing sides place upon you?" She snorted at that.

"I think I managed to freaking smash any expectations the week I arrived." At least that's certainly how it had felt. The backlash was proof enough!

"I wouldn't be so sure." He said. The girl had street smarts, and he could only hope she'd take his words as a warning. He'd expected her to leave as soon as possible, just like she always did, so was pleasantly surprised when her eyes narrowed and she asked for specifics.

"And exactly which side still expects me to be anything more than a tramp with a wand?" Her eyes burned into his with a need to know, and unable to stop himself he took a brief look inside, and it was a good job he did, because his accusation had brought up various memories of her Slytherin friends – mostly Greengrass and Bulstrode trying to be helpful. Hearing his words she had concluded they were only doing so because they wanted something in return – if only things were so simple.

"I think we all expect more of you than that." He answered with a teacher's disappointment – mostly to avoid a direct response – but by the way she glared at him he could see she wasn't satisfied with that answer. "It's ok to have people who offer you genuine friendship, I only ask you to evaluate all those around you." He wanted to say outright that he didn't think there was a problem with her Slytherin friends, but the girl had so few of them that that would automatically throw suspicion on the Gryffindors, and he had no idea whether he could trust her. As far as he could tell she had no tact, and he could just see her marching straight up to the Gryffindors and telling them how he had said not to trust them! He didn't even know for sure that anything was going on; it was simply his instinct. Granger irritated Harry, he knew that, but Dunbar had gotten close, and it felt off that she would get on so well with both Harry and Granger. If nothing else was wrong, he would have dismissed this as Dunbar having an open mind, but the two Gryffindor girls also spent a lot of time with the Weasley twins – especially when Harry was with them, and he couldn't think of a good reason the renowned third year pranksters would want to spend time with first year girls – it just wasn't their style, never mind that they had an established group of friends in their own year… maybe he was making a mountain out of a molehill…

Harry stared at him at length, as though trying to glean what he meant from his face, before she gave a curt nod. "Ok."

Having had enough of the creepy potions master, she made her way back to the castle before pausing.

"Do you trust Dumbledore?" She asked out of the blue. Harry most certainly did not, so his answer to this question would tell her whether Snape was actually looking out for her or simply trying to mess with her or alienate her from her friends or something.

"I…" He thought a moment, "I trust him to do what he believes is best." He finally said truthfully. It was the best he could give her.

* * *

"I cannot endure another minute of that stuttering wreck!" Draco cried dramatically as the first year Slytherins entered the safety of the common room. The children had had the misfortune of having Quirrell teach them twice in one day, since he was filling in for Binns, who was off to some ghost convention or some such nonsense.

"I wouldn't let him hear you saying that." Harry tried to make her words sound humorously dismissive, but nobody missed her slight wince, or the poorly hidden strained seriousness of her tone.

"Oh, please! What would _he_ do? He'd probably fall over in shock." Everyone laughed, while Harry just forced a smile: good to know Quirrell's sadistic side was reserved for her alone. Lucky her… In some sick, twisted way though she revelled in that knowledge. She hated the hidden personality of Mr Hyde, but there was something truly undeniable about him: He was powerful and strong and quick thinking and self-assured; and he was so charismatic when he expounded his expansive knowledge with such eloquence and passion. He was everything she wanted to be. Why did he have to be such an intolerable arsehole? That last trait undermined all the good. Regardless, she was certain she was the only student familiar with Hyde and it was both an honour and a curse. She wondered how these kids would react if their harmless fool of a defence teacher started to torture them. She chuckled at her own thoughts, ignoring the strange looks she received.

"Why was he staring at you?" Pansy asked, or more spat out, as they sat scattered about on comfortable chairs and sofas. Harry was making an effort to spend time with her house mates, though only the bare minimum she could get away with. It was Snape's fault really. She hadn't been able to dismiss Snape's cryptic message from her thoughts. She'd begun to analyse her friends' words and actions, but couldn't see anything glaringly wrong with them. Then again, she'd never had 'normal' friends her own age, so wasn't entirely sure what to look for.

It was this uncertainty that therefore motivated her to make more of an effort with her housemates, because they had been quite clear about their intentions over the months! Slytherins were supposed to be sly and cunning, but in the end they were just kids, and being placed into Slytherin hadn't given them any special powers in manipulation. They had never tried to butter up to Harry, never put her in a position that made her feel she owed them or used artifice to try to convince her of something. And she trusted aggression and sneers more than she did smiles, which was why she had more, well trust wasn't the right word, but she had more confidence in Hyde's words than she did any other teachers'.

Whatever, thinking about this gave her a headache, and so since the hostility was being held at bay for the time being, she thought it best to just get on with it – these were the idiots she had to associate with so she thought she might as well make the remainder of her time here as pain free as possible, and they seemed to be tolerating her presence, which was surprising after all the insults and hexes they'd shared during the first several months. Maybe they weren't quite as petty as she'd thought them to be. Besides, maybe if they simply got used to her, perhaps even familiar or friendly, she could minimise future conflicts. Though she couldn't pull of that Slytherin trait of smiling through clenched teeth – she called bullshit when she found it, so doubted she'd ever be completely accepted here, which was fine with her, just as long as things didn't go back to how they were before.

"He was staring at me?" She asked, already uncomfortable with this information. Since the night she met the Cerberus she generally made a point of avoiding even eye-contact with Quirrell whenever possible. She thought he would have sought her out by now...

"It was kind of creepy actually." Daphne told her with a frown. She had noticed how her friend was always a little more on edge during Defence, but Harry never wanted to talk about it.

Harry caught the curious eyes of those around her and tried to shrug it off. "I'm probably just in trouble again – no big deal." God, she hoped she wasn't in trouble again!

Seemingly annoyed that nothing more interesting was going on, Pansy changed the subject and the group moved on, while Harry was happy to fade into the background, her thoughts pulled back to Quirrell. He had left her alone for a while now, and even though she was glad to not have to endure his company, this ongoing silence made her uneasy. He couldn't possibly be finished with her all of a sudden, so what was he up to? As she continued to figure out just how to do this whole school thing, and to curb her language around the teachers, the amount of detentions she earned was getting less and less, but still, every time she was given one she half hoped/half dreaded that it would be assigned to the crazy man.

After some time everyone broke off to take care of that day's assignments, and thinking she should follow their lead, Harry moved to a table with Millie and Pansy.

"Well, look at you two sitting together." Millie broke the silence after some time. It was true that Pansy had been one of the last of the Slytherins to accept Harry's presence without resorting to snide, derogatory comments. Maybe it was because she and Draco had been the first ones to piss Harry off, or maybe it was because she could make a casual comment on the weather sound frustratingly haughty, but she fuelled Harry's sarcastic tongue like no one else.

"Ha! Me and Pans are best buds – you didn't know? We shop and lunch and we stay up late doing each other's nails and everything!" She guessed those were the type of things girlfriends did together. Harry looked across to Parkinson expecting to see revulsion in her eyes, but instead there was a strange spark there. "Yeh, yeh, you don't need to say anything: you wouldn't be seen dead with me."

Pansy snapped out of her little trance and smirked. "We'll visit a hair stylist on the way and then you can wear out the first outfit you buy. After that you'll be more or less acceptable." She said with a nod that made Harry feel like she'd just decided on something. It made her uncomfortable.

"Glad I can be acceptable."

"More or less." Millie corrected with a laugh.

"Piss off. Besides, I don't think we shop at the same stores." The girls snickered, but didn't push. It had taken them a while to realise Harry's aggressive language didn't necessarily mean she was being aggressive: nowadays it didn't rile them up as it had before.

Harry could tell most of the girls still didn't approve of her being here, and the boys tended to ignore her all together, but they all agreed life was better without the strain of constant fighting.

Lately their main point of contention had to do with Harry's continued friendship with Gryffindors. They said she was damaging Slytherin's reputation. She told them her choice of association was none of their business but they were pretty persistent on this. Occasionally she would find herself losing fights with the older members of her house, but her year mates knew she'd hurt them if they pushed her too far and were therefore learning to bite their tongues.

Things were getting better.


	11. Uncomfortable Truth

Harry walked at a leisurely pace through the hallways, her left hand clamped firmly around her right arm. Beneath the loose sleeve of her robes and wrapped tightly in a torn T-shirt was a long cut. Well, it was long but only deep in the middle and she reckoned it would only need a few stiches, but that didn't stop it stinging like a bitch.

"Harry!" She looked up to see Fay and Hermione had appeared and slowed down as she reached them.

"Hey," She paused when she saw a familiar gargoyle. "You were with Dumbledore?" She asked, her suspicion spiking when both girls faltered for a moment. It was Snape's bloody fault – she was getting paranoid about every little thing!

"Oh, yes." Fay started. "We were just sorting… well it's a family thing." She eventually settled on. Harry thought her friend was looking a little guilty, but decided it was really none of her business either way. She wouldn't have blinked if Fay had simply told her so, and as a rule tried to stay out of other people's business and therefore simply shrugged.

"Where are you heading anyway?" Hermione asked, looking down the corridor as though it might give up her destination.

"I lost my defence book, so thought I'd check to see if Quirrell has it." Harry lied easily.

"Quirrell's class is…" The Gryffindor know-it-all began with a disbelieving look around, this time to indicate how far from Defence Harry currently was.

"I'm taking the long route." Harry cut in to preclude any further questions. The _really_ long route actually. Harry knew why she wanted to see Quirrell, or Mr Hyde anyway, but couldn't justify the reason against the possible risks, and had probably already walked a mile to give her brain a chance to decide this was a bad idea.

"Want company?" She considered accepting Fay's offer: it would certainly be safer to go with back up, or witnesses, but she doubted he would talk to her with her friends there listening.

"No, it's cool." She replied. "I'll catch you later."

And so she carried on her convoluted path and eventually moved on autopilot to find herself beside the door to the defence classroom. There was always the chance he wasn't there, she tried to comfort herself. This was a mistake… But she wanted information and she'd found no one better when it came to knowledge of the magical arts. Besides that he just had such an intense earnestness that she couldn't help but let inspire her. It was almost consuming. He was unlike anyone she'd known. Shame he was bat shit crazy and only part of a mind that was shattered beyond anything she could understand.

' _Stop being a pussy!'_ She told herself crossly, before taking the final steps forward, knocking briefly and entering the room before she could change her mind.

"M-miss, P-Po-Potter?" Ok, so she had just assumed Mr Hyde would be there, and wasn't sure how to proceed now.

Regardless she walked to him anyway, biting her lip with uncertainty. "Erm, is…" How did this even work anyway? She couldn't just ask whether Mr Hyde was in, could she? "I don't suppose… the other guy is, erm, available?" She tried, but his blank face told her all she needed to know. "Never mind."

Quirrell spoke as she turned to leave. "Is th-there n-n-nothing I c-can help you, you with?" She turned back and looked up to meet his eyes, her disappointment plain on her face.

Shaking her head she replied quietly: "I can't use you." This 'normal' Quirrell hadn't once grabbed her attention in class, and she certainly wouldn't be wasting breath on a conversation with him. The best and worst parts of his brain were gathered in one place and without that he wasn't worth it.

This time she almost made it to the door, feeling disappointed, before he spoke again, only now in a voice that sent a shiver down her spine and froze her steps like she'd been stunned.

"You have not been dismissed, Miss Potter." Her hand tightened around her arm at the dark, self-confident voice, and she realised it hadn't been disappointment she'd felt at all; it was relief. She should have left sooner…

Voldemort watched the tense little girl. She was either brave and smart or ridiculously foolish to have come here. It didn't really matter which, for he had followers of both kinds, but he found himself hoping it was the former. He saw her turn slowly, with eyes that stared into his own warily, like she thought he was a wild animal – something else he was used to, though most outside his inner circle never dared to meet his gaze anymore.

He waved her over, indicating for her to take a seat, while he settled into his own, and Harry complied, having taken a moment to bolster her confidence and square her shoulders. The psycho probably got off on making people afraid and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction, even if fear was the valid emotion here.

"What happened to your arm?" He asked after having noticed it was injured right away, and smirked when she pulled it further into herself protectively.

"That's actually why I came." He gestured for her arm and after a brief second of hesitation she laid it on the table and rolled up the sleeve. Reaching out he untied the shirt, not caring as the fabric tore away the concealed blood to which it had stuck, nor the small tempered cry of pain she tried her best to suppress. The displaced plasma caused fresh blood to immediately rise out of the wound, so he was quick to wrap the cotton once more, but held it in place with pressure enough to help stop the bleeding, and of course so that she couldn't pull back her arm. He'd seen enough to know what had happened, but would let her say it: he could hardly believe she would ask anything of him, but ask she would have to do. This situation was actually ideal, for he had decided to give her a chance – to give her a choice: follow him or die. After her touch had burnt him, he'd figured out exactly what had happened on the night of his downfall. It was Lily's doing, and really he could only hold himself responsible for having overlooked the possibility of encountering such old magic. This presented the temporary problem of not being able to touch Harry, but knowing she had not directly defeated him, that she didn't have some hidden power he needed to fear, he decided to follow his instinct to bring her on side. There was still the dratted prophecy to consider, so he told himself he would wait and watch, and if he saw evidence that she could be a threat he'd kill her then. She was powerful for her age, that was undeniable, but wasn't close to having the power or control he'd had at eleven, so that was reassuring.

He needed to hear the rest of that prophecy.

"Why didn't you go to Pomfrey?" He asked when he realised that he'd been quiet for some time and she had said nothing more.

Harry thought. Why hadn't she gone to Pomfrey? She could hardly remember now. She had thought it would give her an 'in' to start another conversation about magic. He'd seemed ready enough before, and she was sure he had more to say.

"I didn't want to cause a fuss. Thought maybe you'd have a first aid box or something and I could just stitch it myself." He laughed. He laughed at the idea of a wizard keeping something as barbaric as a needle and thread to treat minor wounds and because he knew her tough exterior wasn't faked – she really would stitch up her own arm if he let her. Harry thought he was laughing at her and scowled, but moved the conversation on, knowing that if they got into an argument now they wouldn't get anywhere and she'd end up losing anyway. "I was trying out some cutting thing, and I guess it backfired."

"'Some cutting thing'?" He asked incredulously. He knew she knew better than to try something blindly.

"Yeh, some spell the third years were practicing." He frowned and she fought not to shift under the dissatisfaction of the powerful man.

She didn't even know what type of spell it was, did she? "Apparently I've overestimated your intelligence." His words were clipped, but Harry's lips broke into a wicked grin.

"Glad to know you value my intelligence." Harry smirked. Expecting a put-down in response, she wasn't prepared for the dark half-smile he sent her.

"Of course. A fool could see the progress you're making, though I persist that any intelligence you may possess utterly abandoned you on this occasion." Harry blinked. What? Had he just been _nice_ to her? For some reason she found that more threatening than his actual threats.

"What do you want?" She tried to pull her arm back, but his grip remained firm.

"No. What do _you_ want? You didn't come here for this." He stated confidently with a small shake of her arm.

Harry fumed quietly. "Well if you don't want to help…" She yanked her arm free and let out a small yelp in equal parts pain and shock as his thumb briefly slipped over her forearm, leaving burning pain in its wake. "What the… what the hell is your problem?" She spat, but Voldemort didn't respond. He was staring at the blood eating its way through the flesh of Quirrell's thumb, unconcerned about leaving the man with another scar. Blood. Lily had sacrificed her life to protect her progeny, her bloodline… He could use Harry's blood to neutralise her mother's protection!

Harry was a little unnerved as silence took hold once more.

"Do you trust Dumbledore?" She asked. She didn't like that quietly triumphant look on Quirrell's face and so even though the question was out of the blue it did serve to break the awkward silence. Besides, she wanted to know the answer. The answer to that question had become something of a litmus test of a person's character. She wondered whether it was something she should start asking her friends.

Voldemort conjured a cloth to clean his hand and then responded. "I wouldn't trust that old man as far as _you_ could throw him." He said truthfully, causing Harry to look up in surprise. Hadn't Dumbledore hired this man? And didn't that mean he was his ally? Voldemort had been relatively up-front with her up to this point and saw no advantage in lying now that he wanted her cooperation. He hadn't however expected her to nod in agreement. "Do you?"

Harry scoffed. "I don't trust anybody. But I'd take fu-reaking Voldemort over Dumbledore – at least all he wanted to do was kill me!" And she had no idea what Dumbledore was after.

"Really? You should hate Voldemort." He declared surely.

Harry looked off to the windows. "The only thing I hate about Voldemort was that he didn't finish the job." Realising she's said that out loud, Harry quickly shook her head and turned back. "You know what I hate? More than anything in the world? The cold. I really fucking despise the cold." Harry had been so caught up trying to cover up the admission of her darkest thoughts that she'd momentarily forgotten how sensitive Hyde was about her swearing until a short, but terribly sharp pain erupted in her brain.

"The cold." Voldemort repeated as though nothing had happened and he didn't see her death glare. Harry could tell he didn't understand though. He'd obviously never been on the streets in the merciless winter, huddled under blankets that smelled of piss and puke and god knows what else and still unable to sleep as the cold gnawed its way through his bones. She truly hated the cold, but what good did hating impersonal nature do? "Do you really think so little of your life?" He asked, commenting on her stray admission and yet clearly not believing that to be the case. Everything he'd seen of this girl told him she was a fighter, a survivor.

"Life is painful. To live means to fight and struggle just to survive each and every sodding day." She most certainly did not want to die, but it was always an option should living become a hell more intolerable than anything that could be waiting in the afterlife.

He let the soft swearword slide, because he didn't want to discourage this type of openness. "Is that why you're so unconcerned with mutilating your flesh?" He asked, gesturing down to her arm.

Harry shook her head. "You don't get it." She sighed. "None of this is real to me." She still didn't think of any of this as the real world. She knew it was physically real, but to her it was like a dream; a small respite in a place she could be strong, until she woke and once more had to deal with the _cold_ hard reality of life. The cold was the only thing that felt real to her here.

Voldemort considered his would-be recruit and truly saw her for perhaps the first time. Her hollow cheeks and scraped back hair, and emerald eyes shining so brightly with a force of life that defied her hard existence. She was not a legend or a hero, and she was not a threat to him: right now she was just a lost little girl, an eleven year old child flailing out to find meaning in her life… in the world. It was pathetic in the pitiable, vulnerable sense of the world.

That small strange grain of solidarity he felt for her morphed into something else, something he wasn't familiar with. For a moment he was glad, grateful even for her abrasive and calloused nature – he was actually uncomfortable thinking of where she would have ended up without it.

He looked up after hearing another sigh – heavier this time. "I shouldn't have come here. I don't know why I came here." She was clearly speaking to herself, but reclaimed his attention nonetheless.

"You came here for a reason. Tell me." He commanded. It shouldn't matter what she was; only that she had considerable power in affecting the hearts and minds of the masses, as well as his enemies. She was a tool, just like everyone else… nothing more…

"I…" She faltered for a moment, before gathering herself. She didn't know what to make of this new personality. He was still harsh and demanding, but not nearly as hateful. "Well, you're the Defence teacher aren't you? It's your job to help students master spells."

She'd have to do better than that. "I have helped you, in class." If he could just get her to admit this small weakness he'd gain a smidgen of her trust and place himself as someone she could turn to for support.

"Why do you have to be such a bastard?!" She snapped, fully aware her words would result in retaliation and therefore somewhat ready when the pain in her head erupted once again. "Jesus…" She cut off her words, because that really fucking hurt, and she wasn't prepared to suffer the pain those words would have brought. It was one thing thinking about pain and another entirely to actually feel it. "I want to know what I did wrong, and you're the only one here that doesn't treat me like a little kid."

Well, that was good to know. He'd have to make sure not to express his previous thoughts.

"Very well," Voldemort said as he rose to retrieve some Dittany for her arm, "tell me what you were working on."

* * *

 **I apologise for the massive delays.**

 **Thank you so much for sticking with me. It means so much! xx**


	12. Loss of Control

Voldemort watched the pugnacious little girl from across the Great Hall. She was sitting with her Gryffindor friends again, much to his displeasure. He'd left her alone, waiting for her to admit she needed him again after her initial admittance, but Harry was apparently happy to push on without guidance and the result unsettled him in a way he didn't fully understand.

Their last conversation had focused largely on how to prepare and deal with more dangerous magics, and it would seem she hadn't taken his advice and warnings as seriously as he'd hoped. She clearly hadn't believed herself to be too young. Fortunately she didn't care whether a spell was labelled as Dark or Light, she only cared that it was effective. Unfortunately however, in her drive to become stronger she was cutting corners, and that always ended badly – the consequences after all could be much worse than a little cut on her arm.

He didn't even know why he was thinking about this: If she lost herself to Dark magic she would simply be that much easier to control. He could only attribute his concern to the fact that she'd become something of an obsession, and he always saw out his obsessions to the end. He wanted to see her achieve her potential, and was sure she would be an impressive little weapon to add to his collection once he was done with her.

He tore his eyes away and took a drink. He shouldn't be thinking about Potter right now. His time to take the Philosopher's Stone was running out. He needed to focus on that, and on his Alchemy research… but obsession didn't allow for such reasonableness. He'd cracked one of the mysteries surrounding Potter, but there were more to sink his teeth into.

* * *

Harry's leg bounced beneath the table.

"Merlin, you look awful!" George declared as he sat down.

"I'm tired." Replied Harry dismissively. It was true: she'd only had a few hours' sleep over the last week and it was starting to make her crazy. She knew she shouldn't have pushed herself so hard, but the school year was running out and with the students, teachers and randomers out in the world looking to hurt her she couldn't afford to waste a second. Otherwise all this shit would have been for nothing. There just wasn't enough time to learn a comprehensive collection of spells that would enable her to protect herself - Hyde said it couldn't be done at her age, but that bastard probably just wanted to keep her weak or something. The weekend prior she'd lost a _physical_ fight with a fourth year and that drove her desire to get stronger like nothing else. Her lip was still busted.

"What's new? You're always tired." Fay sounded unimpressed. Harry had been in a terrible mood lately and Fay had had enough of it. She was constantly snapping at teachers, at friends and enemies alike. "Why aren't you sleeping now?"

"Dunno." Harry batted away the question and half listened as the others discussed the probability that someone was out to steal the Stone. She hadn't been sleeping because of those fucking dreams! Sick, twisted shit that she hadn't thought her brain was capable of conjuring. Mr Hyde had warned her to be careful when handling darker spells, but she never thought it might affect her this way. She was always on edge and sometimes it felt like she was losing her mind completely. The disturbing images would appear as soon as she closed her eyes, even if only for a moment, but the worst came when she finally fell asleep. The recurring dream wasn't gory, it didn't shock her senses or sensibilities like the others, and in fact it was mild in comparison. But it affected her the most. She dreamt about her mother dying in front of her, and of staring down the end of Voldemort's wand, and it just felt so very real. In her dreams her mother's face was crystal clear, but that wasn't possible. She had no idea what her parents even looked like. The event in her dreams happened when she was still a baby and no one remembers shit from when they were that young, did they? Whatever, dream or not it was wretched because it felt feel – that crippling pain of loss, the fear and vulnerability – she woke in a thick sweat every time. She needed to sleep. Maybe she just needed a drink. Harry – Jay's brother Harry – always had trouble sleeping, but after sucking on a bottle he'd be out for hours.

She was thinking about which teacher was most likely to have alcohol that she could steal when an icy liquid fell down her back, snapping her from her planning as she jumped up in shock and spun to face the motherless fuck responsible.

"What the fuck?" She spat.

"Oops. Sorry, Potter – accident." There were two older Hufflepuff girls standing behind her with nasty, smug smiles. Harry had had run ins with these two before, and was utterly unimpressed by such a juvenile attack.

Furious that they'd dumped their drink on her in front of everyone she stepped forward and kicked out a leg, grinning at the sickening crack that bounced loudly through her bedraggled senses.

"Harry!"

"Oh sweet Merlin!"

She barely heard the shocked calls of her friends. "Oops, sorry Heath. Just an accident."

Grace Heath fell to the ground screaming, desperately rolling around to alleviate the agonising pain in her broken knee, while Harry stepped forward again to deliver another kick. Only before the blow landed two hands of steel grabbed Harry's upper arms and began to drag her from the hall, Harry kicking and shouting the whole way out. Her exhausted, strained mind only caught glimpses of the halls she was dragged through before the shock of the back of her head colliding with a wall snapped her back to the present: A furious Mr Hyde held her tight against the smooth stone and Professor Snape stood close to her side – his face unreadable.

"Harry Potter, look at me." Hyde commanded severely.

She turned back to him, burning with embarrassment and anger. "Get. Your. Fucking. Hands. Off Me." Her voice was nothing but a dark whisper; a hiss. Even though Harry was having trouble stringing coherent thoughts together, she knew she hated being restrained. Once an adult got a hold of you there was nothing you could do to get away – you were helpless, and that was simply intolerable.

Snape watched the two and allowed himself a frown: he'd never seen either of them like this before and his instinct once again screamed 'trouble'. His concerns about Potter's progress seemed to have been validated, but he never expected his colleague to react so strongly to her deterioration – or even notice it for that matter.

Voldemort continued to hold Harry securely in place as he studied her. She'd messed up: her skin was sallow, her eyes bloodshot and straining to focus, though her anger was sharp and clear and he could feel her magic spiking out wildly around her, desperately trying to hit him. Despite his anger he gave her a small sinister smile, and when he was sure she wouldn't bolt he did back off a little, leaving her to glare up at him murderously.

"Severus, I think before anything else, Miss Potter could use a calming draft." Voldemort hadn't taken his eyes off the unstable little girl. Given her aversion to 'drugs' he expected the violent string of protests that resulted from his words.

Stood frozen and confused, Snape wondered what on earth was going on. The way Quirrell spoke set his nerves on edge. The man before him was not the Quirrell he knew – Quirinus Quirrell was a weak pathetic excuse of a man, and that confident, demanding tone carried a most uncomfortable familiarity.

"Now, Severus!" A jolt of fear shot down his spine as the other man's gaze snapped to him, seemingly annoyed by Severus hesitance. Quirrell looked the same as ever, but there was _something_ there, behind the eyes maybe… This wasn't Quirrell.

After taking a moment to wet his suddenly dry mouth, he responded. "Take her to my room – there are plenty of supplies there. I'll fetch the headmaster." He turned to leave. "I told him this would happen…"

"You will not!" Again the way Quirrell spoke froze him in place – he sounded like a man accustomed to being obeyed… He looked back with an eyebrow raised in question. "Miss Potter doesn't trust our esteemed leader, and I believe she's agitated enough already, don't you?"

"Don't mock me!" Harry cut in with a punch to his abdomen after hearing his sarcastic tone, only to feel herself getting more and more riled up as the Defence teacher ignored her. But then she noticed the stare down between the two men and started to laugh. And laugh. And she could barely breathe for laughing.

Reluctantly, Snape broke eye contact with whomever, or whatever was standing before him and looked to the girl who seemed to be lost in a fit of giggles. Whatever was going on with Quirrell could wait – Potter needed help now. So he led them both to his room and handed her a vial of calming draught as soon as she sat down.

Harry took the vial graciously, and then promptly threw it against the wall before turning back as though nothing had happened.

Snape scowled at the little nuisance and was about to retrieve another potion when one flew across the room and landed in the waiting hand of Quirrell, who uncorked it before leaning forward and pinning the girl in place with a menacing, expectant stare. A heavy aura filled the room; the kind of pressure that came from being in the presence of a powerful wizard. His discomfort increased, and he told himself repeatedly that his racing thoughts were foolish and illogical: Quirrell couldn't be reminding him of Lord Voldemort, that was just preposterous…

"Drink the potion, Harry." It was another command, not the stuttered plea for cooperation Snape had come to expect from Quirrell, and more than that there was a warning behind it, a threat, and judging by Harry's cautious lack of response, he would say she heard it too. He could practically see her mind spinning to think of a response as she glowered. Given her fragile state of mind, Snape was expecting a fight, and was therefore stunned to see her snatch the vial from Quirrell and down it quickly; glaring as she did with such intensity he thought maybe she was trying to kill her professor with her mind. And she didn't appear at all surprised by the major personality change.

Harry's face smoothed out as a feeling of peace washed over her and all her muscles relaxed simultaneously. She slouched back into the seat as her mind began to function at a steadier rate. She didn't recognise her own actions – to have retaliated in front of so many people the way she had was stupid, as was the way she'd acted towards Hyde. Looking across to the man she tried to scowl, but didn't have the energy to make it very effective.

"I told you not to push yourself."

"I'm fine." She cut in before Hyde could rebuke her any further. She was already embarrassed enough!

"Fine." Hyde repeated, as though tasting the word on his tongue. "What do you think you'd have done to that girl if we hadn't dragged you away?"

"What would _you_ have done in my position?" Harry was feeling a little hazy, but managed to smirk. She thought the guy was being a total hypocrite, though a small part of her regretted the question when he returned her smirk with a more effective one of his own.

"Use your imagination." Thankfully Harry's imagination wasn't responsive – the haze was getting thicker, and she was having to fight just to stay awake. She really didn't feel comfortable passing out in the same room as Hyde.

"No, go ahead: paint a picture." Her words were starting to slur and Voldemort knew she wouldn't last much longer.

"Your Head of House here is going to suspend you from class for the next week, during which time you aren't to use a drop of magic. Instead you'll be practicing those mind exercises I gave you."

Her eyelids became heavier by the second. "And what do you want?" Hyde appeared to be helping her… that felt dangerous.

"We'll get to that afterwards." He didn't get to say anymore before her head lolled back and she finally lost consciousness. The girl needed sleep more than anything right now, for sleep could repair all sorts of damage, so he'd given her an adult dose of draught to take the edge off and let her natural exhaustion do the rest.

Now that Harry was under control, he stood and turned to deal with his little Death Eater. The room was everything he'd image Snape's room to be; dimly lit and chocked full with books. He had to be careful here, because even though he'd become stronger since taking up residence at the castle, he wasn't entirely convinced of his ability to subdue the other wizard should he draw his wand. He wouldn't be able to maintain his possession of Quirinus for much longer either, so supposed he ought to be grateful it was Severus who stepped up to assist Potter and not someone less kindly disposed.

Snape stared into Quirrell's eyes with a steady unreadable gaze, even though inside he felt completely off balance. He'd had his suspicions that Quirrell was up to something, but there was obviously a lot going on that he'd missed. He needed to get to Dumbledore.

"You've been teaching Potter Dark Arts." Snape was careful to keep any hint of accusation from his statement.

"It's difficult to teach that girl anything. I've simply helped guide her hand."

"Unsuccessfully, it seems." Severus had to force the words out of his mouth. Quirrell was reminding him of Voldemort and Voldemort would never have allowed him to speak with such derision.

The Dark Lord just smiled, though there was malice in his eyes. "As I said, she's difficult; stubborn." He took a few steps closer to Snape. "And you must have been keeping a sharp eye on her – you were half way across the hall before she even attacked Heath. What interest could you possibly have?"

"I'm her Head of House: She's my responsibility." That defence felt hollow even to Snape.

"Hmm, your responsibility. Are you sure it's not that she reminds you of your cold dead mudblood?" Snape scowled viciously, but refused to draw his wand – he realised in that moment he didn't dare draw his wand… "She has the bitch's eyes, doesn't she?"

"What do you want with Potter?" The question was ground out. Quirrell could never be this cruel – to so callously use Snape's most raw vulnerability, his most painful insecurity to hurt him. Even after all these years, Lily was like a shard of glass lodged in his heart, waiting to tear it open at the slightest nudge. No, Quirrell was never like this. This was similar to the way Voldemort would taunt and torment those who displeased him. Snape swallowed loudly as the other man's eyes danced with mirth at the effect his words were having.

"Maybe that's what you're after, maybe that's why you're keeping such a close eye on her: she told me that when she first met you she thought you were a 'kiddy fiddler' – maybe you're hoping to groom a replacement…"

"Who are you?" His nostrils flaring and jaw clenched in anger, Snape had to shut down the vile words, but made sure to keep his tone even and quiet because he was finally starting to accept that this was the Dark Lord he was speaking to. And if that was the case then how long had he been possessing the Defence teacher? What had he already done to Potter? He felt himself shift uneasily as 'Quirrell' took a few moments to consider him.

"What would you say if I was someone planning to present Harry, gift wrapped to the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

"I'd suggest you gag her first." He answered to give himself a few moments to think of the most advantageous response. He was on the back foot, obviously not having expected to be dealing with his former master today.

Voldemort laughed, before talking out Quirrell's wand and watching as Snape stiffened painfully in response. Sometimes fear and uncertainty could disable a person just as effectively as violence. "Answer the question, Severus."

It took a great deal of strength for Snape not to fall to his knees: the dark, commanding tone together with the rising cold pressure around him resonated through his soul, driving him with a yearning to submit. It was either draw his wand or bend his neck, and he just couldn't show his hand until his suspicion was confirmed. "I would of course assist you." He replied at length – quietly congratulating himself for sounding so calm. With any luck he could get the other man to disclose his identity and share his plans.

Quirrell's eyes widened a little as Voldemort sensed the lie, though his surprise quickly switched to well concealed fury. Severus Snape had switched sides after all; had run to hide in the old man's protective shadow. How sad. How disappointing.

"I see. _Oblivio Somnum!"_ Snape couldn't react fast enough, and his wand was only half raised when the unexpected spell hit and he fell like a dead weight to the floor.

The Dark Lord looked down to the two bodies now sleeping in this room. Harry Potter really was more trouble than she was worth! He'd have to deal with Snape's betrayal at a later time, when his death wouldn't be quite so suspicious or incriminating. If the man's mind wasn't such a fortress he would have been able to simply _obliviate_ him. For now, Snape would have to sleep out the rest of the school year. He'd blame Harry, no big deal.

* * *

 **xx**


	13. Funhouse

Harry woke slowly, but didn't open her eyes immediately because the room was too bright. Even with her eyes closed, the light burned. Instead she tried to stretch out her aching back, only to realize she was lying on a hard, smooth surface. Had Hyde left her on the floor? That would be just typical of him! Against her better judgement she forced her eyes open and squinted as best she could to see through the blinding light, while pushing her body to its feet. What the hell had happened? She thought as she turned on the spot, taking in the giant chess pieces set neatly in rows on either side of her, before looking down to find herself stood on the large black square of an enormous chessboard. The pieces loomed menacingly; even the pawns stood a foot or two taller than her.

After taking a moment to ascertain that beyond the board there was nothing but the endless expanse of white, her eyes rested warily on the black king. It was a cold piece of inanimate stone, but somehow very intimidating.

"I told you not to push yourself." Mr Hyde's disapproving voice cut through the dead silence, but was distorted just a little like it was coming through a radio. There was no speaker that she could see anywhere on the figure.

"You already said that." She half expected the solid object to move in response, but it stayed as still as ever. The pawn in front of it was blocking it in anyway, she thought absurdly.

"You can't do this alone. You know, there's not a child in creation that ever became powerful enough to fight the whole world. Life isn't a fairy tale, Princess Aroura."

Oh, she knew that all too well. "Says the talking chess piece." There was no emotion staining her voice as she spoke.

Decidedly uncomfortable with this conversation, she did a 180, only to feel even more discomforted to find the white king had disappeared during the exchange. There were alarms going off in her mind as she considered where it could have gone off to in such a place as this, but she didn't dare turn around, fearing it would be right behind her. Instead, she started inching to the edge of the board, while her eyes never left the empty space. When she reached the end, her back came up against a wall, but she didn't question where that had come from and simply ran her hand along it to find a door handle.

There wasn't a door, but she found a hole about the size of a vent at hip height and immediately started to crawl into the darkness within. However she only moved a few metres before crawling out onto a cinema chair and sitting down. Jay was sitting to her left, and this place was as silent as the last, with the exception of a persistent, rhythmic squeaking – like someone was constantly folding a seat up and down.

"What're they showing?" She asked, looking around the auditorium to make sure the chess pieces hadn't followed her here. They hadn't, but professors Snape, Quirrell and Dumbledore were seated, each in random places and far from each other and none of them watching the movie – instead they were intently watching her with blank, emotionless faces, which was highly unnerving.

Harry turned back to the front with a frown. What were they doing in a muggle cinema?

"It's the story of your life." Jay told her casually as she looked up at the screen, on which her recurring dream was playing at the point where her mother tried to barricade the nursery door. The film was black and white, and there was no sound, and Harry watched, feeling completely detached from what was happening on screen.

She shook her head. "This is someone else's story."

"No, it's yours." Her friend insisted. "You don't get to choose, but you do get to live it."

"You mean you have to survive it: 'Life's shit and then you die', right?"

"Well, that's up to you, and you don't make things easy for yourself. Take some responsibility for your life." Harry snorted at that, tearing her eyes from the film to see Jay with a needle loaded and about to enter the crook of his arm.

"Bit rich coming from you!"

"This?" He looked up with a wide bright smile, and held up the needle for her to see: it was filled with something luminous – a garish orange that could have only come about with the use of chemicals. "This is orange juice. Best in the city, my dealer says: squeezed it himself this morning." He pointed the needle back to his arm.

"Jay, I really don't think you should…" But it was too late and the liquid was disappearing into his vein, so she shook it off and looked around to make sure the professors were still in place, only to be filled with undiscernible dread when she saw Snape was now the only other person in the room. It was a strange cinema, she thought as she searched for the others: where thick concertinaed fabric would normally cover the walls there was only rough stone with huge bare windows that Harry thought must have been blacked out with paint, because they were dark as pitch. The light was as low as it was in any cinema, but all the same the darkness was now starting to bother her. Another thing off about this place was that there were no doors, no exits – her only way out was back through the hole. And which chair was making that bloody noise?

"Where are your friends?" Jay asked. He seemed in a pleasant mood, and she wondered whether a shot of orange juice could really be so refreshing.

"They're in class, or studying, or something." She answered absently, not particularly caring either way.

"Are you sure?"

With a frightened intake of breath, Harry shot up into a sitting position on her bed, before falling back in relief. What the hell had Hyde given her? She'd been dreaming some gruesome shit lately, but that was just weird.

"Oh Harry! Thank goodness you're finally awake." Fay was sitting at her bedside; her hand wedged half way through her charms book to hold her place.

"Hey." She replied, stretching out her back. "What are you doing here?" Nobody else was about, so she could only assume it was daytime – you could never be too sure in the dungeons.

"Dumbledore said I could come down here to make sure you're ok. You've been asleep for two days!" Two days?! Blimey, Harry knew she had been tired but two days was a bit much. She looked down at her dishevelled bedsheet and then across at Fay, who was looking as elegant and pristine as ever in her school uniform.

"What time is it? Shouldn't you be in class?" Fay shook her head with a bright smile. It was a beautiful smile – everything about Fay was beautiful.

"No. They've given me the day off so I can focus and really get into the zone for tomorrow's match." Fay said proudly as she leaned down to put the book away in the backpack at her feet.

"Match? Quidditch? You don't play." Harry was pretty sure first years weren't allowed in the school's teams.

"I do!" Fay protested. She sounding a little hurt that her friend hadn't taken the time to notice, so to appear interested Harry asked what position she played. The two girls looked at each other a moment, until Fay brows furrowed and she said: "I'm the snitch." Harry continued to stare, utterly confused. "But you already knew that, didn't you Harry? You knew as soon as I left you on the train after you told me you weren't Harry Potter."

"Don't say that." Harry said, shaking her head. Fay had been the one person she'd had to hang out with right from the start.

"Potter." Fay was looking above Harry's head, so Harry looked up too and saw a broomstick of pure white hovering by itself, about where her canopy should have been. "You're falling." As soon as those words were whispered, a fierce wind whipped around her face, biting in its chill, and she looked down to find she was hundreds of feet above the quidditch pitch, falling fast.

She felt herself go cold – colder even than the vicious wind around her, because she knew how this ended; knew what she'd look like when body met ground. She opened her mouth to scream, but all she could hear was the rush of the wind and the sound of her heart in her head. It was pounding wildly; faster and stronger than ever before.

And there was no one there to save her. The pitch was empty, the stands deserted. There was no one there to care, or even witness as the ground just kept rushing at her.

She was falling rapidly, and in slow motion. Her eyes stung as tears broke free, only to be caught up and carried away into the air. Even now, as she was about to die, her screams and tears were silenced.

When there was only a few metres to go before impact, Harry was about to close her eyes when an overgrown snake slithered onto the grass and its deep black eyes looked up, directly into her own. At first, the snake frightened Harry because of its size, but not a second later she found its presence comforting. Absurdly, she thought maybe it was there to catch her, or at the very least it was there to _see_ her, to notice her death.

She closed her eyes and awaited her fate.

Harry stood a few steps into a bustling Diagon Alley in her old rip-off trainers, torn jeans and faux leather jacket she'd borrowed from Donna. She was also carrying a heavy backpack and her heart dropped as she realised why. She'd had to do this before, once, and it was the most nerve-wracking thing she'd ever had to do. She never found out exactly why she'd had to do it, but guessed that Jay had gotten into trouble with his dealer, and as a result Harry was made to carry a heavy backpack, just like this one, across London in broad daylight. She never dared look inside, but she knew it was full of drugs. At the time there had been a concerted effort to crack down on illegal substances and so dealers were using children to distribute. She had been terrified about getting caught, about what would happen to her and Jay if the police got a hold of her – of what the dealers would do to them. The whole time she imagined she was about to get arrested; that someone was about to steal the bag; that she'd drop it and not notice.

But now here she was doing it again. This time she just had to take it down the alley to the bank, so she took a few calming breaths and pressed on, thankfully feeling a little more detached than last time. No one noticed as she walked by, but all the same she thought of each person as a threat. Her feet shuffled along, one after the other, until she was finally at the steps of the bank.

"Excuse me, miss?" She spun around and felt like she might throw up when a policeman walked briskly over. He looked like someone from an old movie: blue uniform, pith helmet and whistle. "What's in the bag?" He had a stern face and expectant eyes.

Heaving the bag off her shoulders, she knelt down and placed it on the ground, before unzipping the top. Inside she could see nothing but grey ash. Shit! The dread she felt morphed into thick confusion, and she dug her hands deep inside to try and find the missing drugs. Her eyes darted about as she tried to see through the dark substance, and the search became more desperate when she felt nothing but dryness as the ash pressed against her skin, until finally, finally she felt a hard edge and grasped onto it to pull the item free.

Sitting in her filthy hand was a black king from a stone chess set. She looked up to the policeman in confusion, and was about to ask why she had _him_ in her bag when she noticed a table and chairs arranged outside an ice cream parlour to her left. Thinking the deep shadows beneath the chairs would be a good place to hide, she crawled the short distance and into the darkness, only to crawl back out onto her cinema seat.

She reached over and took a handful of Jay's popcorn. Cinema popcorn was always the nicest. The annoying squeaky noise was back, and Harry wished someone would come and oil whatever was causing it.

"I love this part." Jay said, drawing her attention to the black and white film: Jay was making scrambled eggs in a small kitchen and across the open room Harry sat on the sofa that doubled as her bed. They were in a council flat Jay had been given during one of his many attempts to get clean. It was after getting kicked out of this place after only three months that they ended up in the factory. It was a good three months though.

Harry smiled. "Radiators." Was all she said, before taking another mouthful of popcorn.

"What've you got there?" He asked, and Harry looked down to find the chess piece still in her hand. Face screwed up, she twisted around to look for the professors, and was surprised to see them all sitting in their original places.

They should have been in the other place. "What're they doing here?" She asked Jay, who nodded up at the screen as he answered:

"They aren't pieces of the game, Harry." On screen, Jay sat beside her on the sofa, teaching her how to play poker with a frayed set of cards and pennies. Harry was holding the king of hearts and the ace of spades. She frowned – she was pretty sure that hadn't been her hand at the time. But her frown only deepened as she looked down to the king in her grasp: they weren't pieces on a chess board; they were the players.

She looked across to the dark hole. "I don't want to go that way."

"That's the only way out." Jay's tone was still how's-the-weather casual, but his words were severe, they implied that her only choice was to play a game she didn't understand, or white nothingness: death.

Looking up to see Jay lying unconscious in a puddle of his own vomit on the kitchen floor, Harry thought maybe it was time to go. And so she begrudgingly climbed back into the blinding light.

* * *

 **I know some people don't like literary fiction or dreams in fiction, but Harry's brain needed a word with her. I promise I only have this one dream chapter planned (in all my stories). And if anyone guessed; yes, the title is taken from the 'Funhouse' episode of The Sopranos, which inspired this chapter ;)**

 **Thank you all for reading. Love you guys xx**


	14. Second-guessing

Harry woke slowly, but didn't open her eyes immediately because the room was too bright. Even with her eyes closed, the light burned. Instead she tried to stretch out her aching back, feeling the cotton sheet beneath her and hoping that this time she was waking for real. Cracking her eyelids open she immediately recognised the glaringly white hospital wing, which was a good sign, but just to be sure she pinched her arm brutally and grimaced – that certainly felt real. What the hell had that been about? Weird dreams – they felt so real, but now she was looking back on them that just felt ridiculous. Even now those dreams were crystal clear in her memory.

"Ah, Miss Potter. Welcome back. How are you feeling?" Mme Pomfrey fluttered in from her office within seconds of Harry's awakening. There was only one other bed occupied, but the patient was hidden behind a privacy curtain.

"I feel great actually." In fact she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so well rested. It was almost strange in its unfamiliarity. Her body felt light and although she was confused about a great many things, she could think clearly for the first time in a long time.

"I should think so after two days in bed!" The woman was straight to business, casting unknown spells on Harry and tutting or nodding at whatever they revealed. "They told me you'd be trouble and they were right: poor health, prone to volatile, accidental magic and the worst case of exhaustion I've seen in a long time!" She muttered to herself, exasperated like Harry was always ill or injured on purpose.

"Exhaustion?" Harry asked as she sat up and swung her legs off the bed. She was about to stand when Pomfrey rounded on her.

"Back into bed with you! You'll not be leaving for a few days yet, so best get comfortable." Backing down without argument, Harry shuffled up to sit back against the headboard.

She didn't want to lie down because she felt so good, but it was weighing on Harry that perhaps Dream Jay was right; that she was making things unnecessarily difficult for herself, and no good would come from resisting Pomfrey right now. She didn't know when it started, but somewhere along the way her defences had gone up, and they'd never been lowered. Perhaps it was because the first adult wizards she'd met casually wanted to kill her, and the first kids acted like she was a piece of shit, or perhaps it was because she felt so out of place in this unknown world, but she'd been in attack mode since she arrived at the school. Was everything that had happened since her fault? The kids here were idiots, but back home she'd have just laughed it off and made the most of it. Instead she'd alienated herself. If she hadn't been so tired and wary and dismissive on the train would those girls have joined her – they'd sought her out for a reason, right? It was her own responses both on the train and in the great hall that made them hate her. Maybe if she'd just chilled out a little she wouldn't have had to spend those first few months sleeping in broom closets; maybe she wouldn't have run out of the common room that night and met Mr Hyde for the first time; and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have felt so cornered as to try out spells she wasn't capable of handling yet.

Then again, she really hated to be judged by kids who'd never had to work for anything; who'd never been cold or hungry. Most of her friends back home were idiots too, but she got along with them because they were all pretty much in the same boat. She didn't know what to think.

"Yes exhaustion." Pomfrey was saying. "Magical, physical, and mental too I'd wager. Still, you appear to be recovering quicker than I'd expected, which is more than can be said for Professor Snape over there! Quite a number you did on him." Harry's head swung to look at the obscured bed with a frown. She hadn't done anything to Snape, had she? Oh, she thought, amused though she knew she shouldn't be: she'd left him alone with Hyde.

"What did I do?" She'd take the blame because it didn't seem she was in trouble and she still needed the psycho, so better to know what she was accused of doing.

The matron went on to explain that her magic had been unstable due to exhaustion, and that in a last ditch effort to settle it had vented in a rather dramatic eruption just before she passed out. Both Snape and Quirrell had been caught up in it, though Quirrell had woken after only a few hours. Naturally!

When Pomfrey was done with her, Harry explored her immediate surroundings and found all her school books had been placed in the cupboard beside her bed, and the teachers had _kindly_ given her assignments to keep her busy during her convalescence. She grabbed her student planner and was about to crack it open when her gaze rested on the Slytherin shield on the cover – specifically on the snake. It was the snake from her dream, and apart from Jay, it had been the only half comforting thing there. In her conscious state she couldn't think of anything comforting about Slytherin, so why would its symbol, its representative… it was just a dream, she reminded herself. She was overthinking it.

It was many hours later when her first visitor arrived, though she didn't allow herself the groan itching to be released when she realised it was Dumbledore. Whatever was going on with this man, she knew he wanted something from her, and that it was something more than to be the paragon of Light everyone else expected her to be. Maybe if she played along a little, he'd let her know what it was, so she could better avoid it. She didn't know how to play chess, but she could play poker.

After the expected greetings of 'how do you feel?' and the like, Albus thought the girl would appreciate him getting straight to the point. "I was glad to hear of your speedy recovery, though I trust now you see how dangerous certain magics can be?" He asked vaguely, his face kind and understanding.

 _Don't scowl, don't scowl, don't scowl,_ she reminded herself over and over again. He wasn't going to use her misfortune as an excuse to lecture or make a point!

She shrugged instead. "Yeh, I got carried away." He nodded sagely. _Don't scowl, don't glare, don't punch him in the gut…_

"Darker magics can make you feel powerful, but they take something from you; something that cannot be replaced." She didn't believe him. She didn't buy into the whole light and dark nonsense. Magic was magic as far as she was concerned, and she thought restricting yourself because of labels was stupid. Like a knife, dark magic wasn't inherently evil, but the person wielding it very well could be. As far as she could see, the danger of Dark magic was that it was seductive, and that it tempted you to take steps you weren't ready to take. She imagined that if Light magic offered such incredible power the effect would be the same. There was a reason the Hogwarts curriculum was designed as it was, to slowly build up understanding and capability. If making things rubbery was as potentially useful as say, the ability to sever limbs, she was sure people would be driving themselves crazy trying to achieve that too.

"Yeh, I get that now." She lied. She would have to be careful – both in what she did to herself and how obvious she was about it. She was about to say more when it occurred to her that the headmaster must have known about her studying dark magic all along, and she tried to think of any reason he would have let her do so if he knew it would end this way. Or maybe that was the point – he was waiting for her to fail. _Don't glare. Don't glare…_ Hyde was a massive arsehole, but even he had tried to warn and guide her! As far as she could tell, the old man wanted her trust or reliance or something: would he really go so far as to put her in harm's way to get it? Actually, thinking about it, he'd done it before: he'd known about the hostility in the dorms and about how she was sleeping elsewhere and hadn't intervened. In fact Hyde was the only one to take any interest at all. She knew he must have had ulterior motives too, but he was the one who'd taught her, he was the one who encouraged her to deal with her housemates in a more lasting manner, and he was the one who'd shown enough concern for her poor health so as to threaten her into complying with Pomfrey.

She didn't know what either man wanted, and she didn't trust any of them, but at this point she'd definitely take Hyde over Dumbledore: at least with Hyde she got something in exchange. She wished she had someone to talk to, to bounce her thoughts off. She would never trust Jay with her money or to keep promises and the like, but she always trusted that he'd be straight with her and she could really use that right now!

"I hope you do Harry." Dumbledore spoke a little more sternly, hoping to drive his point home. It had taken most of the year, but he hoped now she'd hit rock bottom, she would finally become a little more cooperative in the coming years. If he managed nothing else, he needed to instil in her a sense of duty and responsibility – he knew when the time came she would be willing to kill, but doubted she'd be willing to die, and one without the other was useless to him. "What you did to Professor Snape is regrettable, but I trust you know it could have been much worse?" Great, now she was getting lectured over things she hadn't even done! "Not only have you incapacitated a man for the foreseeable future, you have also robbed your fellow students of a most gifted potions master and your fellow Slytherins of their most trusted mentor." Harry nodded, but to his frustration didn't look at all abashed.

Harry nodded because she couldn't think of a polite verbal response. His last sentence had triggered something in her brain. Snape was head of Slytherin House; to Harry he was a representative of Slytherin, so was he the snake from her dream? She'd completely dismissed the potions master, but to be fair to the man he had actually tried to help her time and again, and he'd never been threatening or asked anything in return, and neither had he been overly nice or fake. Maybe he was someone she could trust in this crazy place. If he ever woke up anyway.

Before Dumbledore left he offered to teach her a few mental arts exercises to restore and strengthen her mind, and she accepted the offer, sitting patiently while he explained things she'd already learned from Hyde.

* * *

Harry waited until she thought everyone would be sleeping, and then another hour still, before throwing on some jeans and sneaking out, first up to the dorms to get her invisibility cloak, and then over to Quirrell's office. She wouldn't dare break in there without invisibility! There were too many whys bouncing around her head to allow sleep.

"Alohomora." She wasn't surprised when the door remained locked tight. Quirrell wasn't the type to trust the honour system when it came to his privacy and security. Well, never mind, Harry had other skills that she imagined wizards would overlook. Kneeling down, she took out the pins she'd taken from the hospital wing and got to work. She'd been taught how to pick locks but never actually had to do it before, so was prepared for this to take some time. She had been feeling pretty smug about breaking in, but as soon as the pins slid into the barrel she knew it was a lost cause. She hooked them around, trying to find the movable pins, but she couldn't feel anything: there was no metal, nothing at all. No matter how far she pushed in any direction she was met only with empty air.

Huffing in annoyance, she stood and kicked the door softly, wanting to let out a little frustration but not wanting to wake anybody.

The door creaked open slowly.

What did she do? Did Hyde do that? This was either a trap or that door was just shitty. Hogwarts is really old, she thought. Maybe she just got lucky.

Pulling her cloak tighter, she carefully entered the silent office with a shake of her head – she was never lucky. She took a look around to find him, but it was too dark to see much of anything.

Voldemort watched from his position beside the fireplace. The nerve of this girl! He should have been angry, but since having come to appreciate her rough and caustic manner, he found her company more entertaining than offensive. He could hear the girl shuffling around, but was intrigued to discover she had an invisibility cloak. Just who had she stolen that from? A side table was displaced as she bumped into it and he watched with growing amusement as the tip of her wand poked out, but when she whispered a _lumos_ he stepped forward and summoned her wand.

"Give that back!" She didn't hesitate to reveal herself and turn to him with fierce determination, obviously having been expecting him.

"I see you're feeling well enough to disobey Pomfrey again." He smirked, but was a bit unnerved when she smiled sweetly.

"Uh-uh. I should apologise for knocking you out. Kind of embarrassing isn't it: the defence teacher knocked out by a little girl?" Not as embarrassing as the Dark Lord being killed by a baby girl, he thought wryly, though said thought didn't bring the same anger that it used to. A few months back he'd have cursed her silly for the reminder. Maybe it was because he knew she wasn't really responsible – it was most certainly not because he was affected by any solidarity or admiration as he watched her standing so strong, _still,_ after everything she'd been through – Lord Voldemort was not afflicted by such common weaknesses…

"Apology accepted." She rolled her eyes and repeated her initial demand. "I'll not return your wand until Poppy says you may use it. You've already tied to use it twice in the last five minutes and have thus proved you can't be trusted."

Harry knew fighting him on this would be pointless. He said he'd return it so that was good enough for now. "I want my knife – do you have it?" That was what she was really here for. Well, that and to have a look around, to try and figure out why Quirrell was the way he was. She had him pegged as someone out to kill her, and yet he had helped her more than anyone here. She always carried her knife, but it wasn't with her belongings when she woke up, so she hoped Hyde had taken it and not someone else.

"I do." He said carefully, finally moving from the wall and lighting the room with a flick of her wand. He walked over and placed the closed weapon into her expectant palm. "Though I don't know why you bother to carry such a silly little thing. Have you ever even used?" He scoffed. He did think so.

"Used it on you, didn't I?" She shot back immediately, putting it away in her pocket but not letting go.

"And I, you." He said with a small grin. "Really though. You seem to carry it with purpose. Have you ever even killed anyone?" It was mostly a rhetoric question, so he was pleasantly surprised by her little smirk.

"I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die." She said seriously, but couldn't keep it together when his eyebrows rose just a little, and she laughed softly. Again the unwelcome thought that happiness suited Harry better than her angry glares crossed Voldemort's mind. "Not really!" She laughed, before continuing a little more seriously. "But yeh, I have. I'm not proud about it, but I'm not sorry either!" She held up her chin in silent challenge, as though expecting him to react badly.

He didn't respond right away. He could tell she wasn't lying this time. Yet again, conflicting thoughts plagued him and he hated it. He was pleased by the news in that it would make turning her into a little warrior that much easier, but he didn't welcome the implication that she'd been in situations where she felt murder was acceptable. He'd never cared about someone else's life before and needed to understand what made Harry Potter any different in this regard.

"Why did you help me before? What do you want from me? Will you answer that?" She asked, uncomfortable with not knowing how he felt about her being a murderer. She kind of hoped he'd be impressed. And she asked because she knew it wasn't something Dumbledore would give her, but reckoned she'd get an answer of some sort from Hyde.

Voldemort considered her for a few moments. There was a lot he wanted from Harry Potter: her loyalty and the demoralising affect her defection would have for a start. But she'd run a mile if he told her the reality of the situation. As for why he'd helped her… he didn't know.

"Your blood." He settled on. She'd been around the block and seen enough blood that he didn't think this was such a big thing to ask.

"Oh hell no!" She took a swift step back. Even in the muggle world blood and magic didn't mix, they'd call it satanic and dark and dangerous! They made horror movies about it for crying out loud!

He was surprised by her reaction. "You don't even know what I want it for."

"I don't care. My blood is staying where it is." She didn't trust the way be smiled at her. He could have taken it by force of course, but he was confident he would be able to convince her by the end of term and an enemy's blood would be so much more potent if given willingly – it was such a difficult thing to come across, after all.

"We'll see." He said ominously, but Harry didn't notice for she was on a role. All the questions in her mind bubbled to the surface. She just wanted to gain some insight on Hyde, but in her confusion more came out.

"That can't be all though. I want to know what else you're after. You want me dead, so why help me? What are you trying to do? Why did you knock Snape out? If you aren't working for Dumbledore then what does he want from me? Is it the same thing? Why can't I just be another student? Why is this whole place such a cluster-fuck?" She stopped to draw breath and he took the opportunity to respond:

"You sound crazy, Harry. Perhaps you should return to bed." He was taken aback by the look of intense hatred that met his words, but continued: "Conspiracy theories? What on earth could a busy headmaster and an overqualified Defence professor want with an eleven year old girl? Why would that even cross your mind?"

"Tell me."

He didn't know what to tell her. "I imagine Dumbledore wants to use you, both as a mascot and a weapon against his enemies." She nodded for him to continue. She knew she was still missing something, but it was a start. Voldemort waited a beat more and then took a chance. "And I suppose I want the same, though I would use you against him."

Harry felt her mouth drop open stupidly. She couldn't believe he'd just said that! But still, she appreciated a little honesty after so much confusion.

"I'm not going to be used against either side. I don't want anything to do with any of this!"

"Even so, you will have to decide sooner or later. Unfortunately you are too valuable to too many people." He truly believed that if left to her own devices Harry would stay neutral in the upcoming war – she didn't want to play hero or the hassle of politics and war – but if he didn't get her then Dumbledore would.

"I want you to wake Snape." She said quietly. She needed someone separate from all this to speak to and was holding on to that slim hope that he might be that someone.

"I'm not going to do that." She couldn't win, she realised.

Suddenly, Harry felt very tired and with a loud huff she spun to leave. "I hope you die of cancer of the eyes!" She yelled, before legging it down the hallway, ignoring the low laughter that followed.

* * *

 **Don't worry, Harry isn't going to befriend the school - she's just trying to make sense of things. xx**


	15. Choices

"Wait, wait, what stone?" Harry interrupted her friends, feeling like she'd missed something during her week off. This was her last evening in the hospital wing, and she couldn't wait to get out.

The twins laughed. "Not the fastest broom on the field are you, Harry?" George snickered.

"We told you about this two weeks ago." Hermione informed with an exasperated shake of her head.

Ah, well two weeks ago Harry wasn't exactly in her right mind, and her brain wasn't processing information very well. "Ok, so why don't you remind me then?" She didn't really know what to make of her Gryffindor friends anymore, but felt certain that Fay at least could not be trusted. However just like with Dumbledore, she was prepared to play along to see where it took her. There was a chance that once she discovered what was really going on she'd choose to side with these people anyway, but it was only a slim chance because Harry could be stubborn, and at this point she would side against them out of spite. Whatever she decided though, it would be her choice. In the meantime, and for the sake of her sanity, she would be spending considerably less time with them.

"We figured out that the thing being hidden on the third floor is Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone. It's used to produce the Elixir of Life and can turn any metal into gold." Fay was the one kind enough to recap their findings. "We thought Snape was out to steal it, but you already took care of him."

"Why would Snape want to steal it? He's been teaching here for a decade or something." They could be right, Harry supposed. Anyone who knew the Stone was here might take the opportunity to steal it, seeing as it would mean they'd never have to work again. She wasn't ruling anything out right now. Actually, she hoped it was Snape, because surely that would indicate he wasn't with the old man.

She listened as Hermione concocted a scenario to explain Snape's injuries on Halloween, as well as his general creepiness.

"Well, Dumbledore said Snape probably won't wake up before the end of term, so there's nothing to worry about. And to be honest, even if there were I can't see why it's any business of ours." What was really so special about this stone? The rest of the school didn't care about it, so why were this lot trying to make Harry care about it?

"Maybe it wasn't Snape." There was a glint in Fred's eye as he spoke, like he was excited about someone nefarious wondering about the school. It made Harry smile. Fred and George weren't academic types, and the idea of some bad guy sneaking round the school was probably making it all worthwhile. She really hoped those two at least didn't turn out to be fakes.

* * *

"Are you sure you're ready for class?" Daphne asked, even as they made their way to Herbology.

"Yeh, I'm fine, cheers. I've been fine since I woke up, but Pomfrey's neurotic." Harry batted away her friend's concern. "Where's Millie by the way?" Millie hadn't been at breakfast and didn't seem to be about now either.

"Oh, Harry," There was a subdued amusement in Daphne's tone, "Millie got suspended for a week. She thumped Katherine Walker in the courtyard – in front of dozens of people."

"What? Why?" Harry mused that she must have been a bad influence – Millicent could be quite rough, but she'd never hit anyone before as far as Harry knew, never mind some second year wannabe.

"Walker was going on about what a psycho you are." The blonde flinched a little. "There's a lot of that going around actually, you know, after what you did to Heath."

"Great." That was just what she needed: another reason for people to hate and judge her! She appreciated Millie sticking up for her though. It was actually comforting in all the chaos.

"You can talk about what was going on, by the way." Daphne spoke quickly, obviously expecting Harry to refuse right away, "if you want to share… it could help."

"I'm fine, really." The girls walked with the other children into a greenhouse and fell silent for a while as Sprout went on about soil acidity. It was a dull lesson, so whispered conversations broke out as soon as the teacher's back was turned.

"So, was Millie ok when she left?" Harry asked while poking at the petals that closed like a metal vice whenever she tried to extract the pollen within.

"She'll be fine – don't worry about it."

"And her parents won't be mad?" Harry was pretty sure parents were supposed to care about stuff like this.

Daphne just laughed. "Are you kidding? Her mum will assume it's a cry for attention and take her on holiday for the week, and her dad, well, you should see her dad. I mean, he's really quite nice in person, but you should visit Millie's place over the summer on the off chance he's home. He's a famous lawyer who's known for his ferocity – I swear, when we were younger Mille and I used to listen at his office door, and just crack up listening to him going psycho at some poor soul or another. Apparently one time he actually threw a chair at his secretary when the man misplaced a memo."

"And you're sure he won't be mad?!" Harry didn't welcome the idea of some big shot lawyer holding her responsible for his daughter's delinquency!

"No way. He'll probably try to sue Walker, you know, for violating his daughter's personal space and getting in the path of her fist or something." Harry laughed sincerely, and kind of hoped he would, because that would be so funny. This is what friendship was supposed to be like, she thought to herself as she turned back to her plant with a smile: no analysing every word or worrying about sinister goings-on, just a brief exchange of consciousness that made life more tolerable.

It was during dinner some time later that Harry thought about what Daphne had said, and it crossed her mind that maybe she could use the information.

"Hey, Daphne, does Millie's dad ever do any charity cases? Does he ever represent anyone for free?" If Millie was cool, maybe her dad would be willing to help Harry out.

"I don't know. Why?" Daphne was digging through the mixed leaf salad to pick out all the rocket to go with her salmon, while Harry just loaded her plate with chips and a slice of garlic bread. She dreaded to think of what would happen when she went home – would she feel the pain of hunger again when she went back to eating only once a day? Her body had adjusted to eating less before – how long would it take before the pain went away? Would she wither in the cold rain? Would she even notice herself getting dirtier and dirtier? Would she care? She was in no doubt that she was going back to London, but couldn't deny she was a little scared, that she wasn't sure she wanted to. Socially, Hogwarts could go whistle, but existing here was so easy: there was food and light and heating and hot water and, and just so many things that were a luxury to someone like her.

With an excessive amount of trepidation, Harry went on to explain her situation regarding the ministry's involvement with finding her a place to stay at the end of term. It was the first time she'd shared anything about herself with anyone here. She'd been so determined to keep the two worlds separate in her mind that she thought acknowledging her home life would somehow make everything real. She hoped Mr Bulstrode could help her regain a little control. There was an awful lot of gold in that vault of hers, but how much was enough? Was it just a school fund, or could she use some of it for other things? And if her folks had enough money to leave her so much gold, surely they owned a house or flat or something. She doubted it was possible for an eleven year old to gain emancipation, but she had a better chance if she already had a home. She couldn't imagine using the home though – she couldn't imagine going anywhere but back to London – back to what she knew, and back to where she knew who she was!

When she'd finished her basic explanation she looked up to see a deep, god-awful pity swirling in Daphne's eyes. In fact it was written all over her face!

"Don't look at me like that!" Harry snapped. "I don't want your fucking pity!" God, she hadn't even shared what sort of people she lived with!

"It – it's not, it's…" Daphne stopped, because it most certainly was pity she was feeling!

"What?!" Pansy demanded, and Harry looked round to find many first years had been listening into her hushed confession. Just wonderful! "You live on the streets? You? _The_ Harry Potter? How does that even work?" None of those listening could even comprehend such an awful thing.

"So you were just being facetious before?" She definitely preferred those like Blaise, who were looking on in shock, than those expressing pity.

"Hey," She laughed, trying to lighten the mood and not give in to her impulse to lash out, "I don't even know what that means." It didn't work.

"That's outrageous!"

"It's disgusting!"

"How do you, like, use the loo?" The reactions were picking up pace, but Goyle's was by far the best.

"I go in the park like an animal!" She said with an ugly smile, just to see the look on their faces, and maybe to switch the pity back to hatred. Again, it didn't work.

" _That's_ facetious." Blaise said, with his jaw set in a hard line.

This was bloody horrible. It had gotten so far out of hand! She just wanted to take a chance on Daphne and Millicent, not the whole Slytherin subculture.

"Well, Mr Bulstrode is a business lawyer, but I'm sure someone will step forward to help you get off the streets." Malfoy scoffed, but inside he was wondering if his dad would be interested in arranging something, because coming to the rescue of Harry Potter would be great publicity.

"I don't need…" She didn't need help getting off the streets! "I just want the freedom to choose what happens to me – not some nameless bureaucrat. I need to know my rights." She knew how to take care of herself, and didn't need to be sent into anyone's 'care'.

"Merlin, no wonder you don't care about attacking people!"

"Or breaking legs!" Pansy and Crabbe snickered.

"Yeh well, I was morphing the dwarf." Harry defended. It had occurred to her that letting people think she was psychotic might be useful, since she'd hardly been spoken to all day, never mind bothered. However she didn't need someone with bigger fists testing her, or taking her on just to prove their macho-ness.

After half a dozen cries of: "You were what?" she rephrased as best she could:

"I was… I was crazed."

"Harry, who were you staying with before? Who were you meant to be staying with? Can't you just go back there?" Daphne finally spoke up after coming to terms with what Harry had told her. Harry had only ever said she lived with muggles, and for all Daphne knew all muggle acted like Harry did, but this was upsetting, and she was honestly concerned for her friend. The Potters were fighting in a war when they died – surely they'd have made provision for their baby should anything happen to them; left some advanced directive about what would become of Harry. She didn't say any of this out loud though, because she couldn't imagine how hurt she'd feel if her parents had done that to her.

"No, I can't." Harry declared in such a cold, hard manner that Daphne wanted to ask more. "I have to go: detention." And with that, Harry squared her shoulders and made her way out, leaving those behind to gossip their little hearts out. For fuck's sake!

Clearing her head of the shitstorm she might have just created, she made her way down to Hagrid's hut. The official explanation that Harry had been suffering from exhaustion, and wasn't in her right mind when she attacked Heath, saved her from any serious punishments or legal recourse, but that didn't mean the headmaster hadn't loaded her with detentions to drive home how unacceptable her actions had been. Like getting detentions affected her in any way.

Hagrid had an easy-going manner that would have been refreshing had the man not wanted to talk about her parents as soon as she arrived. She didn't want to hear about wonderful things she didn't have!

"Why don't we split up to cover more ground?" She suggested, interrupting the man mid-sentence as soon as they stepped into the forest. Hagrid shook his head:

"There're a lot o' dangerous creatures in this forest, best not t'…."

"It's fine." Harry interrupted again. I won't go far, and I'll shout if I find anything."

"Bu', bu' there's somethin'…" But the light of the girl's lantern had disappeared into the darkness before he could finish his protest, so he took a nearby path and decided to get on with the job.

Harry walked, ever cautious, but not afraid to be alone in the creepy forest. The trees cast sinister shadows that threatened to hide all sorts of monsters, but she trusted that her instincts would give her time enough to react if anything attacked her, and she wouldn't mind finding out how far she'd come in her ability to defend herself.

Well, that had been her thinking until she stepped out into a crisp, moonlit hollow. Hagrid told her the reason for this little outing was to find what had been attacking the local unicorns. Harry had scoffed at the mere idea of unicorns, and decided whatever wanted to hunt fluffy, sparkly horses that shot rainbows out of their arse was nothing to worry about. She was wrong. Across the hollow, a human-like figure shrouded in darkness knelt beside a majestic beast, and was drinking a thick silvery blood from its neck greedily. But it wasn't its form that set her alarms off; it was the heavy pressure in the air. She'd felt something similar from Hyde, but this was next level; she felt her throat constrict as raw power threatened her very being. That it reminded her of Hyde made her nervous enough, but if it was something even worse than him, she knew it wasn't something she wanted to test herself against. It was _dangerous._ Deadly dangerous if her instincts could be believed.

It lifted its head to face her, and she quickly took a step back. Harry didn't feel the need to protect unicorns, and decided this wasn't her fight.

Voldemort stood, amused that of all the people who might have been investigating the death of unicorns Harry was the one to find him. The girl stood slightly off centre with her feet parted, as though bracing herself for an attack, but had taken a step back in an obvious sign of appeasement.

"Hey," She started with a strained laugh. "I don't want any of this." She drew a circle in the air with her index finger, indicating both him and the dead unicorn before gesturing behind her. "So I'm just gonna leave, and you can get back to doing your thing. 'Kay?" She asked, even as she slowly backed into the forests' shadows.

If not for the fact it would have given away his identity, Voldemort would have laughed – she didn't flee in terror, or freeze in fear, or blindly attack, she simply made a choice not to get involved with something that didn't concern her. Albus would never be able to make this girl the self-sacrificing warrior he wanted to fight for the masses. She was Voldemort's to lose.

 **xx**


	16. Burn

' _The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.'_

* * *

"So Dumbledore has some crazy theory that Voldemort is still out there somewhere, and you believe him?!" Voldemort was listening in on Harry and her friends from within the stacks of the library. That hadn't been his intention when coming here, but when he overheard someone brave or stupid enough to dare speak his name, he knew it was a conversation that might be of interest. He should have guessed it was Harry Potter.

"He's a great wizard, Harry. I'm sure he has good reason to believe it." Hermione tried to defend her updated theory that Snape had been trying to steal the Stone, but he was stealing it on behalf of Voldemort, who needed it to return to life, even though he wasn't really dead. Harry would have pointed out how very absurd that sounded, but she was still trying to make herself believe anything was possible with magic. Instead, she questioned why Hermione was putting stock in the things she'd learned from Hagrid. At least she didn't have to ask Hermione the Dumbledore question, because it was already clear the little bookworm trusted everything he said blindly, just because he was the one still standing. Jay always told her that the ones at the top were the ones you really had to be wary of, the ones with most blood on their hands – in the corporate industry, figuratively; in the drug industry, literally; and politics, probably both. You didn't get power by being a good guy.

"Why are you so quick to think he's wrong?" Fay asked curiously.

"I don't. Dumbledore might be right about Voldemort." But Harry wouldn't believe it on his say-so alone. She reckoned it was more likely to be some Voldemort-wannabe, and she knew a man who might fit that description. Well, half a man anyway.

"Well, you might want to consider the possibility." Fay added. "We can't be taken off guard if he does come back. What would you do if he came after you again?" Her concern appeared to be genuine, and Harry shared it. If people wanted to kill her for killing Voldemort, she was sure the man himself would too.

Voldemort found himself leaning closer into the books, eager and curious to hear her answer.

"What would I do if some super powerful bad guy literally came back from the dead to kill me?" Harry asked incredulously. "You're kidding, right? I'd piss myself." She stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Voldemort tried valiantly, but lost the fight and felt himself smiling. Actually smiling. It was a good answer, but he was more inclined to agree with Dunbar's following words:

"No you wouldn't." Fay shook her head. "Come on, what would you really do?"

"I so would." Harry insisted. She didn't think that would be an unreasonable reaction. "But, I don't know, grab the nearest heavy object and twat the fuckery out of him? Then leg it to Australia." Voldemort laughed before he could stop himself, but quickly quietened down. He believed this answer, and appreciated that no could threaten quite like Harry Potter. However, he wasn't at all pleased that her instinct was still to react physically, rather than to draw her wand. He'd have to work on that. Maybe during their next chat.

"Why not just kill him?" Asked Hermione.

Harry dragged over another book to make a point of changing the subject and getting back to her History revision, while she pondered whether it was really true that Gryffindors were courageous, or if Hermione was just all talk. Did she miss the part about Voldemort being a super powerful bad guy who came back from the dead?

"Well in this scenario I've already killed him once." She shrugged. "And it didn't help."

* * *

"Again!"

Harry winced from her position on the floor of the defence classroom, one arm cradling her abdomen as though to hold her ribs together, and scowled at the crazy Mr Hyde.

"I can't!" She spat out in a growl, "Just give me a minute!" She'd conceded that she needed guidance in her exploration of the Dark Arts, and so even though she dearly wanted to take a swing at that stupid, bored-looking face, she swallowed her frustration and prayed she wasn't mistaken in thinking there was method in his madness. He wasn't even teaching her proper Dark magic yet! The things she was learning were more grey in nature – illegal sure, but not anything that would end a battle. Unless her opponent got motion sickness. They were spells that weren't overly technical in their use, but rather relied on a great deal of will, and emotion, and a manipulation of one's own magic. In a mechanical sense they were spells anyone with a year's worth of schooling could cast, but there was a good reason they weren't expected to. What they lacked in technical complexity, they made up for in the sheer amount of energy, of magic, they took from the caster.

The problem she had with Dark magic was that it worked in a similar way, and she wasn't able to adequately direct her magic by predominantly self-control, and the excess or misdirected magic was therefore snapping back at her, and in more ways than she thought possible depending on the spell. It didn't take a genius to appreciate why Hyde was teaching her this way: if she could learn to correctly expel her magic and finish the spell at this level, it would be easier to do so when she moved on to Dark Magic. At least she now knew how to fix the problem, and it explained why her accidental magic often left her in pain.

"You just continue to disappoint, don't you Harry?" Voldemort sounded like he'd resigned himself to a hopeless task, though behind his small frown he was pleased to see the girl's jaw tick as her anger grew. "You should give up, and stop wasting my time!" He knew she never would, "Stop fooling yourself into believing you'll ever be able to handle offensive spells – you're too weak to handle a simple spinning charm." It was a charm that only worked on living things, and although he made it sound as something that might be used to amuse small children, it was aggressive, and had been designed with a much more sinister purpose in mind. The giant tarantula that hung in mid-air had only made a few rotations before Harry fell to the ground, believing her ribs had been broken for the nth time that day. They hadn't of course, but, ow!

They were having this conversation under the guise of extra pre-exam tutoring. Voldemort was teaching Harry, but he wasn't teaching first year defence. Harry didn't give a damn how she performed in the upcoming tests, she wanted knowledge and skills that could immediately be put to use.

This education came at the price of Harry answering the professor's questions. He would have willing taught her for free as another way of bringing her on side, but he knew she needed to feel justified in allowing herself to be helped, even when she knew she needed said help. She was wary of doing anything that would put her in debt to anyone, especially someone as obviously dangerous as him, so he'd made her agree to this to appease her distrust. If he were to play by her silly rules, she'd have to give a lot more than answering questions he could have no doubt teased out during seemingly casual conversations – after all, being taught by the Dark Lord himself was a priceless honour.

Harry had read through advanced DADA textbooks that contained many light spells, but of course they only described how to recognise and defend against dark spells, and she wanted to know how to perform them. She didn't want anyone attacking her with spells like The Unforgivables, and not being able to respond in kind.

Harry clenched her teeth and glowered while pushing herself up on one elbow. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" She bit out, thinking it might be worth actually breaking every rib in her body if she could just manage to turn Hyde into a human centrifuge. The spell wasn't made to be that powerful, not even close, but she felt she could do it if she closed her eyes and wished really, really hard…

He cocked his head dispassionately. "It's just that you're always so willing to entertain. If you were able to comprehend simple instruction, you wouldn't end up on the floor every few minutes."

"Man, fuck you." Before she could connect brain to mouth, the words came out with a dismissive scoff that somehow also carried a violent intent.

Leaning back with a disappointed frown, Voldemort wordlessly flicked his wand in her direction, and watched her writhe and scream as her muscles cramped up. He was being good to her for the most part, glad that he was someone she thought to turn to for help, but that didn't mean he'd allow her speak to him in such a manner.

He only held the curse for a few seconds, just enough to make his displeasure known. It was strange – one of the seemingly endless strange things concerning Harry Potter – but he didn't experience that same level of satisfaction from last year when he hurt her. If anything he felt a greater satisfaction watching her get back up, trying to kill him with those angry, defiant eyes. Any lack of remorse and subjugation following a punishment usually enraged him, but he admired it in this child, it inspired him even. He'd become obsessed with a faceless unknown child of prophecy before his… temporary absence, and now he was obsessed with the unforeseen child she'd become. Why was she an exception to every rule?

Still wearing a face full of anger, Harry jumped to her feet as soon as she was able and fired, making sure to focus on her actions, and allowing her desire to prove Hyde wrong drive her. And somehow, picturing Hyde in place of the spider strengthened her will. The spider began to spin, slowly at first, but then faster and faster, and as she watched it a great sense of accomplishment washed over her. She bit her tongue to stop from smiling, but Voldemort saw the pleased grin threatening to break free, and allowed a small smile of his own. He understood how good it felt to gain mastery over something, to know that one small wondrous bit of magic made you a little less vulnerable. They were so alike in so many ways.

A short while later, student and teacher sat at Quirrell's desk.

"So, why did you run away?" Voldemort asked. He imagined there must be some terrible story behind it. Six year olds weren't so committed to leaving home without good cause. He'd refused to consider her back story for the longest time, mostly because he was so unnerved with how uncomfortable it made him – he shouldn't care what she'd been through. However now that he wanted her cooperation, he needed something he could use to turn her against the muggles, and imagined this subject would provide a deep well of hate.

Harry stayed quiet and still as she looked across to the Defence teacher. Nobody had ever asked her that 'why?' before. They asked lots of questions about her desire to go back to her friends, and about her strong opinions on where the Ministry should place her, but nobody cared about why she came to be in this position in the first place. They just wanted to _deal_ with her, to shove her onto someone else so she wasn't their problem anymore.

She'd had a flurry of meetings with Dumbledore lately, along with a representative from the Ministry and Mr and Mrs Greengrass, who'd been kind enough to offer to foster Harry while a permanent solution was found. It was good of them, but for reasons she didn't understand it upset her just a little. She didn't belong in Daphne's world. All her beautiful friend had to do was smile, and she could have anything she wanted.

Mr Bulstrode had eagerly agreed to help her out, and started working with Mr Malfoy to interfere in her case and ensure her opinions were heard. Malfoy had the money and influence within the ministry, and Bulstrode was able to argue her case in the way only a skilled and ruthless lawyer can. She was uncomfortable with Draco's dad having anything to do with it, but Quirrell seemed to think it was a good thing, and time was short so she'd use whatever she could.

She'd learned that originally she was going to be sent to live with the Dunbars, and when she'd adamantly shut down that suggestion Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to offer more choices. She'd told Fay she simply didn't want to impose on their friendship, but once everyone found out about her going to Daphne's she had no idea what excuse she would give her Gryffindor friends. Draco told her that the Weasley family had next offered up their home, but his dad had shut that down before it could even be considered by stating the ginger family didn't have the resources to house another child – well, actually, he had apparently said much more; stating they couldn't afford the gaggle of children they already had etc. Harry liked the twins, but the tiring attitude of their brothers made her grateful for Malfoy's interference. Knowing she would have to agree to go somewhere, she'd jumped at the Greengrass' offer, and no objections were made. The family had many spare bedrooms, the funds to care for another child, and already had two well cared for, well-adjusted daughters, which implied they were capable of caring for a young girl.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she returned her attention to Quirrell, who had remained quiet as he waited patiently for her response.

"I had a moment of clairvoyance." She told him at length, hoping the vaguely dismissive words would be enough to make him lose interest. She hated thinking about this. "I realised I didn't belong with the Dursleys, and so I left."

Voldemort was unsatisfied with the explanation, but before he could press the issue he felt a powerful wave of burning hatred, and before he could ponder how and why her emotions had once again intruded into his mind, he found himself watching a small montage of memories. Her words had been vague, but true. He was annoyed to find there was no shocking physical abuse that she'd suffered. Well, mostly annoyed, but also relieved despite himself. There was also a feeling of... sympathy? They had kept her in a cupboard, hit her with random nearby objects, like frying pans, and denied her the basic affection any child needs to grow into a well-rounded citizen, but Harry did not consider herself to be some poor abused victim.

And there was nothing special about the day she decided to leave. She'd placed another serving of toasties before her family, proud, because these were the best she'd made yet. Petunia had criticized her last effort, just as she criticized everything Harry did, but Harry was sure her aunt would be impressed this time! She wasn't, of course she wasn't, and Harry hated to think back on how hopeful she'd been back then, how innocent. Petunia had merely snapped at the little girl for hovering, telling her to clean up the mess she'd made in the kitchen, before dismissing her altogether to praise Dudley's 'big-boy' appetite, and in that moment Harry realised that nothing she did would ever be good enough. She'd tried so hard. She'd thought she could fix whatever was wrong with her. She'd believed it when they said she was a worthless freak, but held on to the faintest hope that if she worked hard enough her family would see that she wasn't worthless, wasn't unlovable; that if she was perfect, and did everything they wanted they would accept her. She yearned for their approval and love, but nothing she did could make them so much as like her.

So that was it: no confrontation, no grand demonstration – just a perfect plate of food, and a heart-breaking revelation. She finally accepted that she would never be wanted by her family, and so to avoid the pain of knowing this she left. She would rather be out alone in the world than to be so close to something she could never have. Voldemort was thankful that life on the streets had hardened her to the harsh realities of life, but it had taken a while for the piece of her heart that was broken to wither and die. Her nights of sitting on rooftops praying for somebody to come find her had long passed. There was no loving mother out there trying to find her. There was no one who cared about her – probably no one who even knew she existed. And Voldemort knew that the child Dumbledore was trying to find in Harry had died crying herself to sleep a long time ago.

In the seconds it took for these memories to fly through her mind, Voldemort could feel her resentment. She hated the Dursleys, and she hated the wizarding world for abandoning her. There were a few other children at the castle who'd been orphaned in the war, but they were all cared for, and kept safe in the world of their parents. Not Harry though.

Now she looked back at that time with revulsion. She worked hard to make sure she was never that vulnerable again, no matter the cost. No one was coming to make everything better, so Harry had to make it better herself.

Voldemort filed the information away. So far he hadn't found anything to explain why he could feel Harry's emotions. It wasn't anything to do with Lily's protection. And now he was seeing into her mind? He didn't have a clue. Yet.

"Perhaps it wasn't just the Dursleys." Voldemort suggested. "Perhaps even then you knew you didn't belong with the muggles."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe, but some of them can be cool." Nobody would argue her friends represented the best of humanity, but they were good enough for her. Maybe she didn't belong in the muggle world, but she didn't think she belonged in this one either.

"The Dursleys knew of your heritage. Do these 'some' know where you are now? Would you still belong with them if they knew you are a witch?"

"Maybe." She repeated noncommittally, but he could see the truth in her eyes: she didn't believe her muggle friends would react favourably. "But you lot didn't exactly welcome me with open arms either."

Voldemort's lips quirked. "Abrasive personalities shouldn't be taken into account when discussing species."

"Your species ab…" Even if Harry did think she was somewhat to blame for the students' reaction, she wasn't going to admit to it. Hyde interrupted before she could make her point.

" _Our species._ " He corrected with a disapproving frown.

" _Our species_ abandoned me when I was one. Even my parents." She argued with an uncaring shrug. "I've seen plenty of muggles do the same. I see no difference."

"Your mother died trying to save you." Voldemort pointed out. He was pleased that she hadn't turned her parents into martyrs the way the Light had, but that didn't really help him at the moment. "Have you seen any muggles do the same?" He doubted it – not where she'd come from.

"No." She gave. "They abandon their kids, because they're weak. But so was Lily Potter." The Dark Lord's eyebrows shot up at that.

"She sacrificed her life to save yours. That takes strength." Dying was his greatest fear, and he couldn't imagine anything that would push him to that. He saw an almost disgusted curl of Harry's lip, and before his very eyes something in her snapped.

"Do you know how fragile the human body is? The human mind? You have no idea how many people I've seen die." It couldn't have been that many, but to Harry it felt like one after another after another. "Murder, suicide, overdose, illness," me… "Dying is easy. You die. You're dead. And whatever horrible shit you lived with before is over. Everything is over. It would be so easy." She paused to draw an unsteady breath. "Strength? Strong is fighting. It's not giving in to the easy option. If Lily Potter wanted to protect her baby she should have fought for her. I doubt someone known as the bloody 'Dark Lord' is afraid of dead bodies, so by sacrificing her life, Potter merely removed the only thing standing between her child and certain death. That's _weak_." She finished in an impressive hiss.

For a moment, Voldemort could honestly admit to being speechless, but he quickly brought his mind under control. Harry really seemed to resent her parents, perhaps even more so than their murderer, and he agreed with her opinion. Lily's sacrifice had saved Harry in the end, but the mudblood hadn't known that when standing at the end of his wand.

He cleared his throat discreetly. "Lily Potter knew she was about to die." He wasn't sure why he was even debating this anymore, but supposed it had something to do with seeing that consuming fire within the child's eyes, and with hearing her speak with such uncontrolled honesty. He'd even let her bad language go unpunished, because he didn't want to shut whatever this was down. "The only thing she could do was stand between her child and the man that threatened her."

Harry scoffed crudely and leaned forward. "If she knew for sure she was about to die anyway, she should have gone down fighting!" She cried loudly. "If she was the only thing preventing the death of her child she should have fought tooth and nail. She should have made aim for his balls, or gone for his eyes. Slowed him down, anything. She should have _tired!"_ With that last declaration she fell back into her seat, tired and at her limit of caring.

Voldemort couldn't have been happier, unless, maybe… "And what of the man who killed her? Who tried to kill you?"

Harry let out a long quiet _pfft_ of apathy, not even turning to face her tutor. "He was a…" In her calmer state she remembered not to swear, and too tired to think of a polite substitute, she moved on: "I get it. I **do not** agree with it, but I get it. He was taking out enemies. And if you kill someone's family there's a chance you're also making a future enemy in anyone you leave behind. 'Revenge should have no bounds', and all that." She rolled her eyes, and Voldemort wondered if she knew she was quoting Shakespeare. She was surprisingly insightful for her age, but as much as he didn't want a little Hamlet after him, even he wouldn't kill children for such a reason, especially not children from decent families. He wanted to bolster the wizarding world, not destroy entire prominent lines.

"Why do you care?" Harry asked suddenly, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Why do you think I care?" He buried his pleased smile and tossed the question back at her, curious to see what she made of him now he'd declared his interest.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Because you want me to go Dark Side, and The Dark Side preach muggle and mudblood hate."

 _Dark Side_? He thought mirthfully.

"So you see nothing wrong with the way things are now? You'd protect the world as it stands?" He sneered a little at the very idea of this girl standing to fight with those fools in the Order, especially after today's talk, but was quickly put at ease when she scoffed loudly and looked at him like he was insane for even suggesting it.

"No! The World's a miserable fucki- _fecking_ cesspool – it can burn for all I care."

 _Excellent._

* * *

 **I'm sorry, guys. I don't know what's wrong with me lol. I've just been busy and struggling to write lately, but I'm not abandoning anything.**


	17. Needs Must

The first years were abuzz, excitedly chattering away over dinner on results day. Millicent was pretending to be angry with Harry in an effort to find out Harry's secret.

"Well, I'm not surprised you aced Defense, what with all the extra tuition you've had from Quirrell." Millie growled dramatically. "But come on, you must have cheated on the others. How did you do it?" Harry laughed. Nobody could believe how well Harry Potter had done in her end of year exams.

"I didn't. I swear!" She promised with a grin when Millie glared. She could only assume her success resulted from all the independent study she'd done in understanding magic. She'd flown through her practical exams almost effortlessly, and theory wasn't too challenging either. Most of her marks were lost because she couldn't properly express or explain herself on paper.

"You passed _History._ " Pansy pointed out, obviously skeptical too. Harry had just barely scraped a pass.

"Yeh…" Harry didn't have a clue, though she might accredit it to dumb luck. The only real revision she'd done was with the Gryffs, and at Hermione's insistence. What were the chances that those particular wars would come up in the test? Speaking of Hermione, Harry really got a kick out of beating her in Charms, and Defense. Oh the look on her face was delicious: to spend all her life worshiping books, only to get beaten by a girl who clearly didn't give a toss. Harry only wished she'd filmed it.

"Failed Potions though, didn't you?" Draco had to have his say, making sure everyone knew he'd got the top score.

"Give it a rest, Malfoy. We all know you're super smart." Lots of students had failed Potions this year, but they we reassured that wouldn't be held against them, and everyone would be caught up by Halloween, next term. "Not very Slytherin of you not to help out your brothers." She'd heard lots about the incredible Slytherin brotherhood, but seen very little.

"You aren't my brother." He shrugged.

"That's cold." She clutched her chest as though hurt, but the charade only lasted a second before she remembered something: "I am your cousin though, aren't I" Her grin returned as he strenuously denied it. A Black and a Potter was a good match for purity back in the day, but the Potter name had been forever sullied by James' selfish decisions, and Draco didn't want everyone to know that Potter was related to him, no matter how loosely.

The connection was found while the Ministry was searching for any blood relatives to take responsibility for Harry. A Black had married a Potter in the 1940s – it was a fragile link, so when Harry said she'd rather stay with the Greengrasses Lucius Malfoy agreed. Having the Girl-Who-Lived under his authority was tempting, but he imagined she would be more trouble than she was worth.

"I'm no more related to you than I am anyone else here." Draco insisted.

Whatever, Harry only had two more days before she left Hogwarts, and with any luck, found a little peace with Daphne's family.

"So you admit the Malfoys are inbred with the entire school? It's good to be honest."

"No more so than the Potters!"

"You two so need to just kiss and get it over with." Daphne teased, effectively drawing the ire of both of them.

"Greengrass, you are not –"

A mighty crash echoed throughout the room, startling everyone, first into silence, and then into a loud clamour. The room shook from the force of whatever had impacted the castle, and a shadow at the windows suggested that a significant amount of stone had just fallen from the masonry above them.

Another crash came as the students jumped to their feet in panic, this time accompanied by a violent flash of orangey light. In the brief light, a silhouette could be seen of something moving about in the darkness outside.

Before the students could get out of hand they were directed to return to the dorms. Harry wasn't really comfortable going to the dungeons when there was stone falling from above, but moved to follow her friends anyway.

"What's going on?" Harry asked. This couldn't be normal – even for a magic school.

Various groups shoved against each other in the hallways, everyone trying to make haste to the own dormitories while every flash of light or crash terrified the children scurrying by.

As she rounded a corner Harry's arm was caught, and she was pulled behind a stone Griffin, away from the fast moving crowds. Another flash lit the corridor, this time accompanied by a heat that didn't belong. Was it explosive? Was the school under attack?!

"Harry!" Fay was there, her eyes wide with fear. "We're being attacked by a dragon!" Harry's head swung to the nearest windows as another burst of light flashed across them. An actual dragon? A real-life dragon. So often Harry struggled to relate to her friends – she could never figure out why she should care about who was dating who, or how the British Quidditch League affected her life in any way. A dragon though? She couldn't help it – that was pretty awesome.

"Cool –"

"It's not cool!" Fay snapped before Harry could even get excited. "It's obviously being used as a distraction; to get someone inside the school!" Sometimes Harry wished she'd never met Fay. You shouldn't trust anyone who doesn't get excited about actual real-life fucking dragons.

"So tell–" Harry was interrupted by Hermione this time, who had just joined them.

"It's not an attack!" She looked flustered, but had her wand at the ready, which left Harry rather cross with herself for not having 'armed' herself when a danger became apparent. She pulled out her wand, but tried to make it appear casual. "It's just Norbert – he's Hagrid's dragon. He was hiding it in the forest, but I told him this would happen: you can't keep wild beasts as pets!" Harry believed her – Hermione had that I-told-you-so look that was far too familiar to misinterpret. She didn't think this was an attack.

"Well whatever the cause, you can't deny it's a great distraction! If You-Know-Who, or Snape, or anyone, was going to go after the Philosopher's Stone, they'd do it now!" The fierce determination on Fay's face made Harry take a step back.

"So tell a teacher." She suggested quietly, not liking the feeling that she was being led toward the Stone yet again.

"No, Fay's right." Hermione said. A roar sounded from somewhere beyond the doors. "We have to stop them. We can't let You-Know-Who get the Stone."

"I agree." Harry's voice was still calm and quiet. "So tell a teacher."

"The Forbidden Forest is on fire – probably the school grounds! The staff are outside dealing with the dragon, and Dumbledore has been at the Ministry all day. We have to get the Stone before anyone else can." Cried Fay, and Harry, swallowing the question concerning Fay's knowledge of Dumbledore's location, agreed.

She was 90% sure Hyde was the person at Hogwarts most likely to be after the Stone, and she couldn't see him handing power over to someone else, even a Dark Lord. But she had to be sure it was just him. She hated being maneuvered into protecting the Stone, but she couldn't let Voldemort get it just to spite those manipulating her. The man was powerful and wanted her dead, had all her life. He had to be a bigger threat than drunken wizards in Knockturn Alley, or sly old men, or even Professor Quirrell and Mr. Hyde. She was having a hard enough time surviving life; she didn't need a homicidal manic looking to settle a grudge too. It was about self-preservation.

She couldn't turn a blind eye. But she didn't feel comfortable having Fay and Hermione watching her back either.

"Fine, I'll go make sure the Stone is safe. You wait here, and if I aren't back in an hour, well, I guess find all the teachers and tell them thanks for nothing." She moved to leave, but the other girls hesitated a moment.

"We should owl Dumbledore." Fay suggested.

Really? Send an owl to a man some 400 odd miles away? No owl was that fast.

Harry kept walking. "You go do that."

Fucking cowards. Hyde was welcome to the damn Stone, and if it wasn't him, Harry would take it for herself – she wasn't going up to the third floor to protect the stone, she was protecting herself, so sod them if they couldn't be bothered to defend it.

"No, wait Harry! I'll come with you." Hermione called out to Harry's surprise. The other girl seemed really intent on following Harry as she chased her up the first set of stairs.

"Come with you where?!" The area was now mostly abandoned, so Fred's mockingly accusatory tone echoed loudly as he and George appeared. Apparently they'd decided to track down the girls when they didn't return to the dorms with everyone else.

"I just have to go check something real quick. It's ok. Don't worry, I won't be long." She didn't want Fay and Hermione coming because she didn't trust them, but she didn't want the twins coming because there was a slim chance that the maybe dead/maybe not dead Voldemort was behind this, and if that was the case they could very well get hurt. Harry liked the twins, it was a genuine affection – they had pretty much everything she wanted, and yet she didn't resent them for it.

"Harry, that's the stupidest thing you've ever said." Fred started with a grin.

"Nobody would ever believe that."

"You had the same idea we did – "

"and have decided to protect the Stone – "

"Right?"

Harry smiled, despite the situation.

"Something like that, but you're still not coming." She looked to the three of them. "Not any of you."

"You can't go alone, Harry. It's dangerous." Hermione said.

"Look, you want me to care about the Stone – I care about it. Your job is done and you can go now. We don't have time for this!" Harry snapped, and turned to walk away once again, and once again she was followed.

As they approached the room that held Fluffy, she was quietly grateful to have back up – at least the twins were older and more skilled, so she didn't say any more to discourage them. With a deep breath, she swung the door open.

"Oh, good gracious!" Hermione exclaimed softly.

Fluffy was dead. All three of its heads had been severed and left in gruesome warning to anyone who might follow.

"Oh, we are fucking geniuses." Harry mumbled under her breath. She edged around blood pooled across the floor and peered into the darkness beneath the open trap door. "Age before beauty?" She nodded down in offering to the twins, who looked at each other for a few moments, still trying to take in the horrible scene, before one stepped forwards and dropped down.

"You dead?"

"Harry!" Hermione smacked her arm. "What do you see?" She called down.

"It's a killer plant! Devil's Snare! Ah!" George wasted no time in diving into the hole after his brother. The sound of fighting followed. Gryffindors!

"Idiot." Hermione dismissed the rash actions and wrung her hands in thought. "I know this… Devil's Snare… It like's… We need fire!" She suddenly declared to Harry, before turning to the hole. "Use fire!"

After that, it was only a few minutes before the two girls had lowered themselves into the dank dark space, and joined the boys, who were declaring that they absolutely had _not_ forgotten how to deal with Devil's Snare.

The four continued their journey down a long dank ramp, feeling like they were descending into the bowels of the school, though they knew they were still well above ground.

Eventually they came upon a vast room full of flying keys, and a locked door.

"Well, you two are up again." Hermione handed the boys a broom each. She hated flying and had the same, minimum flight experience as Harry. "We're looking for a big, old fashioned one." She advised.

So with little choice, they took off, darting and diving through the swarm of fluttering keys. There were too many though, and they were getting overwhelmed by the sheer amount buzzing around them.

"It's no good!"

"We're beaters,"

"not seekers!" They cried in frustration.

"Then be beaters!" Harry called back, trying to pinpoint the key from her position below. "Bring them down and we'll sort through them here!"

Fred and George grinned, transfigured themselves a few heavy bats, and began to freely decimate all those delicate wings. The girls sorted through the falling keys, until Harry picked up what she thought must be the right one.

"I have it!" She called off the chase while shoving the key into the lock, and opening the door to, well, she had no idea. "All ok?"

"This is the most fun we've ever had at school." Fred said by way of answer. "We knew you'd make things interesting, Harry."

"Hey, this Dumbledore's pantomime. You should thank him."

The next room lit up to reveal a giant chess board, and at a loss, the children looked at each other.

"Who's best at Transfig?" Harry asked.

"I think this is more about strategy than magical skill. We have this." Ron was the best chess player in the Weasley house, but the twins were decent enough and two heads were better than one.

The game that followed was nerve-wracking. Harry wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but there was a constant threat that each play would see one of the students smashed like their stone counterparts. Eventually, the twins made a move that Harry had never seen coming – they decided to sacrifice George.

"No!" Harry snapped. "Those things could kill you! It's not worth it!"

"If You-Know-Who gets the Stone, we're all dead any way. I'll be fine."

"George, No! You can't!" Hermione called, but George had made his move, and was promptly dragged from the board in a state of what Harry hoped was just unconsciousness.

It only took three more moves after that before Harry was able to take the white king. There was an echo of something in the back of her brain, that said the symbolism here was all very significant somehow, but she brushed it aside and ran to George's side with the others. He was just knocked out, to everyone's relief.

"Show-off." Fred snickered to his brother, while folding his robe and placing it under his brother's head. "Had to play the hero."

Feeling like they'd lost too much time, the three remaining rushed onward, promising to come back and get George help just as soon as they could.

The smell in the next room knocked them back, but was quickly forgotten when a huge wooden club nearly took them all out in one swing.

"What the hell is it?" Harry shouted. They ran in opposite directions, confusing the strange, and thankfully slow moving creature.

"A troll." Fred answered. "We just need to – "

" _Elido!"_ Harry didn't wait for an answer. Her body and mind were ready to battle the second danger presented. Her spell connected with its target, shattering the heavy club into thousands of splinters, and was powerful enough that it ricocheted up and crushed the troll's hand in the same instant.

Magic was awesome.

She ignored her friends' cries of shock, and enquiries of how she knew that spell. The troll wailed in pain, staring down at its hand in confusion for a few seconds, before looking across to Harry and charging. Oops.

She dived away and scampered forward a few meters, getting to her feet and turning to face the angry, hurt troll. She drew her wand down hard, before thrusting it forward, just as the troll reached her.

" _Confringo Malivolo!"_ A blast erupted from her wand, hitting the trolls stomach at point blank range and blowing a hole straight through the unfortunate creature.

"I guess that's one way to do it." Fred's lowered his wand, and brought his hand up to cover his nose again.

The troll fell, only to reveal Hermione, standing traumatized and covered in guts, wand still raised in casting purpose. "I…" She tried.

"We don't have time. Why don't you stay here?" Harry tried to breathe normally and shake off the adrenaline. Hermione shook her head and took a determined step forward. "OK, let's just… go."

"Why would you kill a dog that can be calmed with a short song, and not a troll that could kill you accidentally?!" Hermione asked, but realised the answered before she'd even finished speaking. The troll was simply part of the threat following the warning.

So they marched onward, and after reading the puzzle in the next room, both Harry and Fred were very, very thankfully the little Gryffindor had persevered.

"We need a pen." Harry blinked at the page: "And an hour."

"And an abacus." Fred joined in.

"No, just give me a minute." Hermione's face folded in deep thought. She walked back and forth a few times, while Fred and Harry stayed silent, both deciding it was best to let Hermione take the lead here.

In no time at all, Hermione pointed out the vials that would allow them to pass forward or back.

"OK, well, it can't be much further, and there isn't much potion left. Hermione, you go back and get help for George. Me and Fred will deal with whatever comes next." Harry said. She held the potion that would let her pass to the next room, and knew there was only enough left for one person. That was fine. She was thankful for their company so far, but going further would be dangerous, and despite being the youngest she felt most able to deal with whatever darkness lay beyond.

"Ok, but be careful!" Hermione clearly didn't want to leave them, but finally gave in and went to check on George, leaving Harry to deal with Fred.

She turned to face him head-on. "Ok, so I'll take- _Petrificus Totalus!"_ He never saw it coming, and she hit him with the full body bind. She could handle Hyde, and if it was Voldemort two more years of schooling weren't going to help.

"Sorry, Fred. It's just I'm pretty sure there's a psychopath on the other side of those flames, and you just… don't belong in that world."

And with that she downed the potion and stepped through the black flames.

* * *

 **xx**


	18. The Storm

Hyde stood before a large mirror in the center of the chamber. There was no sign of the Stone.

"I rather hoped you were smart enough to stay away." He said, though he made no move to face Harry.

Relieved there were no more monsters or a Dark Lord waiting for her, Harry took a seat on steps leading down, and watched Hyde curiously. Hyde was definitely scary, but she hadn't got that I'm-going-to-kill-you vibe from him for a while now. She felt something in her had been pulling tighter and tighter ever since she first felt that heat from the dragon, she'd felt that this was all building up to something dreadful, but now she knew for sure it was just Hyde, that strained feeling was starting to ease. She leaned forward on a propped up knee while trying to figure out why on earth he was staring so intently into a mirror.

"That makes two of us." She responded easily, and was about to say more when she caught his eyes in the mirror: they were red, and not just the hint of red she'd seen before, but completely red. Apparently he didn't feel the need to hide anything anymore, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that. Hyde restrained by his position as teacher, and by general expectations of decency was scary enough, thank you. "I knew it was you." She said eventually.

Tearing his gaze from the infernal mirror, Voldemort turned to face the unknowable little girl. For a second he thought she meant she knew it was _him,_ Voldemort, but she was too relaxed for that. He didn't know how she came to be here, but imagined it had something to do with her Light loving little friends. Whatever the case, if she was here she could be useful. If he couldn't make the mirror give up its treasure, then Harry would do so, one way or another.

"And have you come to stop me, Harry?" His words were teasing, and left no doubt he thought the idea ridiculous.

"No." She told him honestly. She was eleven: no match for a fully trained wizard who'd been around since the olden days! "I needed to make sure it was just you, is all." He eyed her a moment, and then lightly jerked his head toward the mirror. He didn't appreciate the 'just you' comment, but that wasn't really important.

"Come, look into the mirror. Tell me what you see." The command was soft enough that it didn't sound like a command at all, or wouldn't have sounded like a command, had she not already known this man.

Ever cautious, Harry stepped up, not knowing what to expect, she was stupidly surprised to just see her reflection staring back. With a malicious sneer she stuck up her fingers in a V, only to find her hand being gently clasped in another's, and pulled back to her side.

She let out a faint gasp, for there was no hand on her own. And yet the sensation of someone standing beside her felt so very real, and someone had definitely moved her hand down.

"What are you doing?" She asked Hyde, hoping this was some trick of his. The figure in the mirror was obscured as though through a foggy lens, but it brought with it a sense of comfort and care. She couldn't see who it was. They were her age, judging by the height.

The mirror was obviously an illusion – her own probably. Stupid little abandoned child who'd only ever had herself to rely on. Pathetic. There was no one who cared about Harry on a personal level, no one who would care enough to stop a little casual self-hatred. No one really saw Harry for just Harry. It was a nice illusion though, she supposed.

That she could simply mean _something_ , to _someone_.

"Do you see the stone, Harry?" Hyde pulled her from the self-comforting delusions, and she almost thanked him for it – stupid mirror! She shook her head no. Of course she should have been looking for the Stone – that's why they were both here after all.

"Oh, wait, I do see something." The phantom hand placed a small, blood-red stone in her reflection's hand. She looked down to see her real hand was empty. Was it in the mirror with the mystery kid? How was she meant to get it out?

"Harry!" Fred interrupted them, startling Harry more than she'd like to admit. "Get away from him!"

No! Harry thought. How the hell had he got in here?

"Fred?!" She jumped to the side, before hastily backing up a few paces, putting herself equal distance from both wizards. Fred looked shocked to his core, and held up his trembling wand in Quirrell's direction.

"Harry! It's _Him_! Look! It's V-V-Voldemort!"

She spun back to her teacher but then scoffed quietly, thinking the alternate personality must be quite a surprise. But for goodness sake, it was only a set of red eyes and a sadistic superiority complex.

"What? No, that's just Mr…" But then everything slid together in her mind. "Hyde." She finished in a quiet breath, but loud enough for Voldemort to hear. He raised an amused eyebrow at the nickname, but made no comment.

Dead, but not dead. Oh shit. The adrenaline in Harry's system seemed to reignite with a greater intensity, and she brought her wand up quickly. He hadn't tortured her because he was just a psychopath, or because he was a Voldemort fan – he _was_ Voldemort! He was the man who tried to kill her before she was old enough to wipe her own arse. Since the day she learned of magic all she'd heard was how this man hated her – wanted her dead – along with his many followers. The big bad boogeyman of the wizarding world, that everyone feared. He was just biding his time. Shit! Shit! Harry was overwhelmed, feeling as she had when that guy had cornered her in the alley. She was outmatched, and way out of her depth. She was vulnerable.

So she lashed out. Better to do something than nothing.

" _Avada_ _Kedavra_ _!"_ A few wisps of green spluttered from her wand, but otherwise the spell failed as expected. She'd read all about the Unforgivables, but was years away from learning how to cast them.

For a moment Voldemort blinked stupidly. This child had surprised him before, but right now he was gobsmacked. Had she really just tried to…? Had she actually known how to cast the Killing Curse, Quirrell would be dead now!

"That's a shame." He said softly. The young Weasley boy tried to fire something, but Voldemort took his wand without even looking his way – pathetic whelp that he was. Harry's eyes were wide as she stared at him with both fear and shock.

Voldemort had given the prophecy child a chance, because he actually liked her. They came from different places and different times and yet they were so similar, and she was so close to following in his footsteps. It was as if they were two sides of the same coin, two parts of one person. However she'd blown that chance. He wasn't going to take the risk of letting her live, when she so clearly wanted him dead.

"I'm going to kill you now, Harry Potter." He told her in the same soft tone of Quirrell's. "But you should know, I will remember you well. You could have been a great witch. _Avada Kedavra!"_ He closed his eyes as an unprecedented feeling of regret washed over him as soon as the words left his lips. He had no idea where that came from, but it must have had something to do with magic, or their connection, or something he wasn't seeing, because he could find no reason for it. Why should he regret killing the one destined to destroy him?

Harry panicked, her blood vibrated in her veins, making her tremble ever so slightly – and then he cast the Killing Curse! She screamed, and in an act of pure survival, summoned the only thing she could to block it.

"Ah…"

Voldemort's eyes snapped open when the little girl let out a strangled cry, _after_ he heard the unmistakable sound of body hitting floor. Potter was still standing and still breathing, bracing her legs to stop from falling, though they shook terribly with the rest of her body. At her feet lay the body of Fred Weasley.

"Ah," Harry cried out again. Tears poured from her eyes, but she wasn't really crying. There was no sobbing, no hitches of her chest, or quivering facial muscles – there were just tears. She'd just killed Fred! Oh, God! And she liked Fred! He was nice, and funny, and oh god, George!

Harry felt her every nerve set taut, like she could feel every particle of air against her skin, every thread of fabric, every wave of sound. All her senses were too keen and moving too quickly. The blood rushing through her ears was deafening. It was taking everything she had not to throw up, as she tried to make sense of what she'd done. She'd chosen to save herself, just as she always had, and to do so she'd thrown her friend in front of a train.

She didn't have time to process her loss for long when the next interruption came, and in such a high state of distress, her body and mind and magic reacted instantly, instinctively, and without direction.

Dumbledore ran into the chamber, only to find one student already dead. His heart dropped through the floor, but he had to steel himself. Harry was still alive, and he had to make sure she stayed that way. He had been cultivating her to be a child who might sacrifice herself for others, but he wasn't ready for her to be killed just yet – he still had plans for her. He turned his wand to Quirrell, who he could now see was being worn like a meat suit by Voldemort. He didn't know the man had gotten so close – but seeing as he was here…

"You shouldn't have come here To–" He didn't get to finish, because as soon as he spoke, and alerted her to his presence, the terrified little girl spun, releasing her knife in that same instant, sending it flying at him, and only _then_ she jumped as though startled. Dumbledore was left with a knife in his chest. A bullseye hit.

For several seconds there was complete silence. Even Harry's sharp, uneven breaths seemed to have stopped. Everyone just blinked in shock.

Voldemort and Dumbledore recovered at the same time, but while Dumbledore tried in desperation to gather enough magic for a stasis charm, all Voldemort had to do was summon the knife, and watch the blood spurt freely from the open wound in his enemy's heart. Dumbledore tried to say something, but it only took a few seconds for him to lose consciousness and collapse to the ground.

It was only then that Harry realised what she'd done, and her legs finally gave out. She fell hard.

Voldemort spared Harry a glance, before returning his attention to the old man, taking his wand, just in case, curious to see how long it would take him to die, and determined not to miss the final breath. He turned the knife over in his hands, and wondered why he'd ever ridiculed Harry's instinct to react physically. Harry Potter had killed the mighty Albus fucking Dumbledore. And got Lord Voldemort swearing, apparently.

Harry's mind and senses slowed in time for her to hear the headmaster's death rattle, which was followed by Hyde's insane laughter. No, not Hyde, Voldemort.

After appreciating the destruction of his only viable threat for perhaps a little longer than necessary, Voldemort looked to the child responsible. First she'd sacrificed a friend to save herself, and then she'd killed the most powerful wizard around. He knew she was meant for greatness. She was incredible, even sitting on the ground with that lost look in her eyes – she was a survivor, and she was incredible.

"Harry?"

She heard whoever the fuck it was hiding behind the guise of Quirinus Quirrell, but she was too far gone to listen. She looked at Hyde, _no_ Voldemort, for a second. It was so stupid of her, but he was the only person in this whole stupid world she thought she had figured out! Because she trusted aggression more than kindness. It was as though he hated her, and didn't care if she knew it, he hurt her whenever he wanted to, which was better than someone who hated from behind kind eyes and smiles. She was a bloody idiot. He was just another old man trying to manipulate her, just like the headmaster, just like everyone in this messed up place.

She looked across to Fred's body. _His body_. She didn't look across to Fred; she looked across to his body. How did that happen? How wasn't she looking at Fred anymore? Where did he go?

She couldn't bear to look at _the_ _body_ any longer. She closed her eyes tightly and covered her ears for a moment.

"Potter." Her surname now, and a little harsher, but still Hyde's – _Voldemort's_ – call didn't reach her.

Thoughts spun too quickly in her mind. She kept circling around to one sticking point: that she liked Fred. Four people, now. Four people Harry had killed, but she had only made an actual decision to kill one time, and it was to kill one of the painfully few people on this entire miserable fucking planet that she actually liked! It had been an impossible situation, she rationalised. A life and death situation. And then there was her survival instinct – everyone had that didn't they? It was healthy. Her nerves had been firing to keenly, her emotions shredding her mind. She had panicked, and made a split-second decision. An ungraspable, split-second decision, but a decision nonetheless.

Harry wasn't anything. She was nothing but a story from years ago. Her family was dead; she probably had no real friends, just a few hero worshipers, and people who wanted a piece of her, for good or bad, it didn't matter. Fred had lots of family and friends. He was obviously very loved. He would be missed in the heart-wrenching, agonizing way that Harry never would. Harry didn't mean anything, to anyone. If she had just died, a family wouldn't have been destroyed; the halls of Hogwarts wouldn't be a little darker. Nothing would have changed at all, not really.

But it was him or her, and she knew, even now, that she would always choose to protect herself. What did that make her?

Suddenly all her muscles relaxed, the tears stopped, she let out a deep, but calm breath, and fell back like a rag doll.

It's easy, she reminded herself. Just stay still. All you have to do is not move. How hard can that be?

"Go ahead." She spat quietly, staring at the high ceiling above. She was fucked anyway. She probably couldn't get out of this alive. She still held her wand loosely, but Hyde had two, no, three wands and her knife on him. And fuck it, even if by some miracle she managed to hurt him and get away, she'd killed two people. She killed Dumbledore, a highly respected public figure as she understood it, in a very direct way. At that moment, she couldn't find it in her to give a shit about Dumbledore's death, apart from how it would land her in prison. Probably. She wasn't too sure. Wizards didn't seem to have as many laws protecting children as muggles, so she didn't really know exactly what would happen to her. Wizards didn't have the death penalty, they had something far worse: an Alcatraz kept secure by creatures that inflicted mental torment, and could even take your soul. In a society where this was seen as fair and just punishment, she didn't fancy her chances. The best case scenario, her wand was snapped, she was expelled and tossed back to the streets.

Whatever, she was too exhausted to think about it.

"Really?" The Dark Lord asked, incredulous. She was going to just roll over and accept death? Voldemort couldn't accept that. Maybe it was his elated mood, but the light slowly dimming behind her eyes disturbed him. Greatly. It felt like something precious slipping through his fingers, or like something priceless was being wrenched from his possession.

"Sure. 'Life is a nightmare that prevents you from sleeping.' I'm ready to go to sleep." She closed her eyes and awaited another AK. "I'm done!" She whispered, mostly to herself. She was done! Done with manipulative old men. Done with games she _knew_ she couldn't win. Done with fake friends. Done with dreams of strength and power. Done believing in fairy tales. Done trying to be clever; trying to be a child; trying to be a student who does homework, and exams; trying to be anything at all... She was done watching people die! It was all she had to give. She was just _done_!

A force not her own pulled her to her feet. Voldemort wouldn't speak to her in a position of defeat – it wasn't right, it wasn't her. He felt better than he had in decades, even before his fall, and it was all down to Harry Potter. There was nothing standing in his way now, not Dumbledore, and not this little girl. The Light would crumble, even as they tried to rally together. If he played it right, taking the entire country would be easy.

Her legs were like jelly, but managed to hold her upright once she was in position – her body and mind almost acting against her wishes – she just wanted to lie down and go to sleep! She opened her eyes to see Hyde shaking his head. She was about to let herself fall back, until she heard his words.

"You are wrong. I _see you,_ Harry Potter." Her breath caught and she met his gaze. "Your life is worth more and you know it. You act like you do not care for life, and do not care about dying. Yet you only know how to survive. You try and you fail, constantly." She scowled, thinking he was mocking her. He was actually acknowledging her indomitable spirit, her ability to keep going, to keep trying, against all odds. "You have been raised by adults who don't know how to be adults, and as a result, you are a child who doesn't know how to be a child." Her scowl deepened.

"I'm not a child!" And just like that, the fire in her eyes brightened. He smirked.

"My point." He moved, slowly circling her, and she moved her head, trying to keep him in sight. She didn't know why, but she felt ready to defend herself from threat once again. Surrender just didn't work for her, did it? "And yet I see you, Harry Potter." He repeated. "You are worthy of Lord Voldemort's notice. I see your value. I see your strength. I see your potential. I can see what you could become, even after seeing you at your _worst_ , your weakest." He sneered a little, indicating that this, her little moment of defeat just now was her worst, like rolling over was the worst thing she could possibly do, even after everything else she'd done. He believed in her. It made her heart beat faster, stronger.

"You're incredible. Unlike any child I've known. Better. Join me Harry, and you will be incredible – I meant what I said before. Let me teach you to be strong." He sounded both surprised and a little awed, because he realised he spoke the truth. Not even he had this kind of strength in his first year. He was more powerful than her back then for sure, but she had a strength all her own. He wanted that strength. She watched him carefully, trying not to let that swell of pride affect her _too_ much, and waited for the other shoe to drop. There had to be a catch. "There is no part of you that would truly surrender, even if you think you want to. Just as no man can hold his head beneath the water to drown himself, you cannot sit back and let fate decide. If I'd have fired at you just now, you would have moved." She knew it. He stopped and looked her dead in the eyes. "You are _not_ 'done'."

Harry stared up at him, almost believing, until it occurred to her that she wasn't even looking at Lord Voldemort, she was looking at the face of the poor bastard he'd used to manipulate her all year, and now here she was falling for it again! God, he had no idea what such promises of strength did to her. Potential my arse!

"Stop it!" She bit out, stepping away to a more comfortable distance. "You are fucking unbelievable!"

"Harry." He warned. Honestly he thought he had her there. He should have known better.

"No! Fuck that shit." She couldn't play along with his bull anymore. He could take his fairy tales and shove them. She was abandoned like rubbish on the street, and she'd probably die like rubbish on the street. Wishes and dreams didn't change anything. He'd made her forget that somewhere along the way. Bastard.

"It doesn't have to be this way." He raised his wand, assuming the threat of punishment would cool her down a little, but she stood her ground, chin out and staring him down, until she finally shook her head softly.

"Just stop it." She repeated. "All this pain; I can take it. Hey, I can give a lot back too. But all this other stuff… You talk about strength as if it's something I know." She shook her head again, trying to think of a way to make him stop whatever game he was playing and still let her walk out alive. "You're offering me the sky, but what good is the sky to a creature who'll only ever crawl?! You know what? Of the bastards who've hurt and manipulated and battered me over the years, _you_ are the cruelest of them all." Nothing hurt more than hope.

Voldemort frowned. He was being sincere, but after finding out she'd been lied to for so long, she would never believe it. And he wasn't going to waste his breath trying to convince her.

"Just let me go. We've tried the killing each other thing, a few times now, and it obviously isn't working for us." She tried. The realist in her knew there was no fighting her way out of this – she had to talk her way out. "You don't mess with me, you don't hurt me, you don't even talk to me again, and I swear to god you'll never see me again." She was more than ready to leave this world forever. At least she could say she'd tried.

His frown deepened. She was telling him to back off. More importantly though, he now realised she thought he was still planning to kill her – this revelation came about five seconds before he realised he actually wasn't still planning to kill her. Curious: Harry Potter upsetting his equilibrium again, the exception to his rules. Voldemort liked to keep everything in black and white. He could charm arrogant aristocrats into supporting him with wealth and power, without ever losing his air of superiority. People were useful to him, or they weren't. Offence was punished. Threats were removed without thoughts of morality or mercy. There were no ambiguities. Once a line was crossed, there would be no reprieve, no hope of the offender talking their way out of it. They were dead. And yet here stood Harry Potter, who'd tried to kill him not an hour ago. By all rights she should be dead. So why was he hesitating?

Perhaps some kind of agreement might be the best way forward. This way he could remove the threat, and leave open the chance to weaponise her in the future. If he had time he could research their strange connection and indulge his obsession. And killing her further down the line was always an option.

"Very well. If you give me your blood - I only need a few drops - I'll agree to this: as long as you do nothing to purposely harm me in any way, I will not harm you. Should you break this agreement the retaliation will not be proportionate. Do you understand?"

Harry couldn't believe what she was hearing. No 'join me or die'? Was he actually going to let her walk out of here? Well then…

"Fine, but you also have to take responsibility for these," she gestured to the two bodies without looking at them, "and then help me disappear."

He sighed heavily, purposely. Dramatically. On the one hand he was impressed she was able to think clearly right now, that she was already thinking about what would come next – namely aurors. On the other hand that run-away mentality was self-destructive and tiresome. She'd never realise her potential hiding like a rat in the sewers.

"You can't solve all your problems by running away from them." He was unimpressed.

"It's worked for me so far. You know what hasn't worked for me?" She was all kinds of confident again now, Voldemort thought as he fought the urge to laugh. A tiny part of him wanted to reply: 'oh I don't know. Being found?' He managed to restrain himself though. "Being found!" He sneered, so as not to laugh.

"You've survived by running away, and that's commendable, but you can't truly live unless you face up to life."

"Look, you owe me." He raised an eyebrow. "For killing Dumbledore." She clarified. There was almost a quiver in her voice, but she was determined not to show weakness, not now she was so close to escaping this whole thing.

"You removed a minor inconvenience. I won't…" help you run away. He was doing it again! Helping her wasn't his priority right now. He was not her social worker. He wasn't even her teacher. He was already showing her unprecedented kindness by allowing her to live. Then again, he couldn't have faced the old man as he was now, and her killing Dumbledore was the highlight of his decade so maybe… "I won't take responsibility for killing the old man, but I won't deny it. Nobody can ever truly disappear, but I can arrange a way for you to be untraceable by magic." He didn't need to take credit for her achievement, and if he did, when the truth came out he'd look petty and foolish and weak. And she wasn't his responsibility – if she wanted to throw her life away, it wasn't his problem.

"Okay."

"Okay."

You-know-Who and The-Girl-Who-Lived stood in silence for a full minute after the informal agreement was made. Then Harry cocked her head to the side in thought.

He saw the move coming – she didn't even try to hide it. She took her time in getting enough power. Her fisted right hand dropped back, and her body twisted to the right and slightly down. The she released, springing out and even jumping a little to ensure the right hook landed hard against his cheek.

His face snapped right and was already beginning to swell.

"That's for killing my parents!" She said while trying to shake out the pain in her hand.

Voldemort flexed his jaw. That hurt a lot more than he thought it would, but then again he hadn't been struck since he was a child. With such a visible attack, they both knew he could have stopped her at any point, which was why he hadn't. He was curious to know what she was up to, and at the end of the day, it was Quirrell's face she was damaging, not his.

"That's fair." He replied softly, before taking out his wand. " _Distentio!_ "

He only held the curse long enough to make her fall to the ground and let out that first scream. Four seconds maybe.

"Disproportionate retaliation, as per our agreement." He explained as Harry got her breath back and waited for her muscles to stop quivering. He could see her mouth moving as though in silent prayer, but knew was actually a string of words that would make a sailor blush.

Eventually she recovered enough to give him a half-hearted shrug. "That's fair." Silly as it sounds, it was worth it. Closure maybe.

Voldemort laughed, spared her one final glance, and then decided it was time to go. He'd take the mirror with him.

There was a lot to do.

Harry watched him leave without so much as a 'goodbye'. "She you around, Hyde." She whispered. She sat up, and no longer in survival mode, allowed herself to look again at Fred's body. Then, in the privacy of the large, silent chamber, she allowed herself to process everything that had happened today.

* * *

 **Yikes.**

 **Thank you for the continued support. XXXXX**


	19. Entropy

Harry Potter hated the police. She hated them like a vampire hates sunlight. Too bad for her, she'd been in their company almost none stop for the past 5 hours. Wizard police anyway – aurors.

After being found with the two bodies by professors McGonagall and Flitwick, the Filth were called and she was interviewed at length – with no Appropriate Adult present, bloody wizards – about what had occurred in that room. She just repeated the truth, over and over again: the twins, Hermione, Fay and Harry were worried that someone was sneaking into the castle and went to investigate. Fay went to mail Dumbledore and the others progressed through several trials, until only Harry and Fred were left. Knowing there was only enough potion for one, and knowing Fred would insist on going in her stead, she'd incapacitated him and gone on herself. Within the chamber she came across Professor Quirrell. They talked for a while (and Harry was ever so relieved to find a teacher already present), until Fred came into the room and declared Quirrell a Dark wizard and that he was the one after the Philosopher's Stone. He then fired at Quirrell and Quirrell returned fire with the killing curse. He then tried to make Harry help him retrieve the Stone from within some mirror and, scared for her life, she complied. Only, before she could figure it out, Dumbledore came. Quirrell used Harry as a shield and fired at the old wizard. Dumbledore tried to reason with Quirrell for Harry's safety. Harry, very, very frightened (and she used her best big Disney eyes here), pulled out her knife and tried to attack Quirrell so she could get loose. It didn't work. Quirrell took the knife and after allowing Dumbledore to get close during a negotiation for Harry's release, stabbed him in the heart. After that he tortured Harry and left. She had no idea why he left her alive, she was just grateful he did.

The whole, unadulterated truth.

She had to confess the knife was hers. It was easy enough to see Dumbledore died from a knife wound, and almost everyone in Slytherin knew she had one. The only reason she hadn't outed Voldemort was the reaction Hermione received when she had claimed he might have been responsible – the aurors all but laughed at her, and Harry didn't care enough about it to endure being mocked and disbelieved.

She'd told this absolute truth over and over to several different witches and wizards who all seemed to believe her. Though they did employ some of the usual tricks to make her slip up. Some feigned empathy; fetching her food and drink and trying to draw out details she might have missed after 'such a traumatic experience'. Others played 'bad cop' and challenged her story head on, but she never deviated, and they didn't really have any reason not to believe the little girl.

Eventually she'd been saved when Mr Bulstrode and Mr Malfoy came sweeping into the room, the former snapping all kinds of legalese at the aurors, while Malfoy guarded Harry from further interrogation. She never thought she'd be so grateful to see Draco's dad!

"Are you alright?" The blond noble would ask every five minutes or so. She would always answer with some variation of "Of course, I'm fine." Every now and then she would catch him staring at her with an expression of unrepressed intrigue, and forced herself to meet his eyes each time. Weird. She'd met him quite a few times now, and he usually looked at her with mild repugnance, like he always thought she was about to steal his wallet. His porcelain complexion made it difficult to tell, but Harry thought he was looking a bit pale – a little anxious maybe. But then so too, she supposed, was everyone else. The aurors asked how the two men had become aware of the situation and investigation at Hogwarts, and while Malfoy brushed them off with vague claims of 'knowing people', Harry had to wonder.

She saw her 'friends' during this time: she viewed Fay's tears dispassionately, and she briefly hugged Hermione at arms' length. However she couldn't meet George's eyes as she offered up useless platitudes and 'I'm sorry's. The other Weasleys came through at some point – she couldn't look at any of them. They all asked if she was ok, and she told them all, time after time, that she was fine. What else could she possibly say? Their world would be forever changed, and she had done that to them. A part of her thought the change would be for the best in the long run – they would be forced to experience a dose of reality, a step into the world beyond family dinners and worrying about work or school, that they would take a short dip into the world Harry inhabited, but the look of raw pain on their faces transcended all. There was no good to come of this.

Lucius stood tall beside the child. He thought she looked too tired to care about the seismic effect tonight's events would have on the wizarding world, and so paid her little attention, instead taking the opportunity to quietly observe the room. Shocking though it was that a Hogwarts teacher would go dark and kill under the reign of Dumbledore, Lucius knew there was even more to it. He shared a short stare down with Mr Dunbar, that Light loving cretin, after overhearing him tell the aurors that his family's relationship with the late headmaster was none of their business. Thankfully the mudblood girl was half hysterical as she told her parents everything she knew, so it was easy enough to get a basic picture. The girl seemed convinced this was the work of Death Eaters: apparently Dumbledore had believed Harry was in great danger from the families who wanted revenge for Voldemort's defeat, and the mudblood had simply been trying to steer her away from that danger and to the right sort of people. It only left Lucius wondering what on earth the old man had been up to, and he knew there was similar concern growing amongst the aurors as they tried to work out the purpose of the third floor trials. To his general delight, speculation and suspicion was already being thrown around, and Lucius was eager to learn of any conclusions. Whatever the outcome, Dumbledore's name was about to be dragged through the mud.

He'd only become aware of the situation an hour ago, when he'd received a short note that gave a two sentence description of what had happened and rather forcefully advised he intervene on Potter's behalf. The note had been signed off with a Dark Mark, but was otherwise anonymous. It could have meant anything, he told himself: a friend within the auror office passing on confidential information, perhaps. It felt like something more significant though, and without a source he couldn't decide whether it was given in a spirit of friendship, or as a warning. Either way, it was a good thing he and Bulstrode were here, for although he had no real care for the Potter girl, she would otherwise have been defenceless and alone. The Weasley clan rallied around each other, the Granger girl was held securely by her mother as she sobbed, and Dunbar was protected from interrogation by her parents. Potter was alone. She had experienced the worst of what must have surely been a truly dreadful night: she'd been threatened, she'd been tortured, she'd watched Fred Weasley die, she'd watched Dumbledore die, and there was no one there for her, there was no one to hold her and comfort her and tell her everything would be okay. She was utterly alone. It was so pathetic, it was heart-breaking.

The next morning, the entire school was sent home.

Harry spent the whole train journey with the first year Slytherins. Daphne apologised to her, explaining she had told the Head Boy as soon as she realised Harry hadn't made it back to dorms, but felt she should have done more. Harry told her it was ok, and she really meant it, because Daphne had done the sensible, responsible thing. It was both reassuring and refreshing after trying to deal with rash Gryffindors all year.

To her surprise, the Slytherins didn't push her for the gory details. They spoke of the deaths of course, and they speculated on what it all meant, but mostly they talked about more important things, like meeting up at The Club, whatever that was, and who was hosting the St. Mungo's Children's Ward Charity Ball this year. They spoke in great detail about the Ball, a good half hour at least dedicated to it, and then they spent all of one minute bemoaning that they were all too young to attend. Harry didn't get it.

She joined in where should could (whenever she actually knew what they were talking about), but mostly she stared out of the window. The greenery they passed was beautiful. She'd been too tired to appreciate it on the outbound journey, but now she tried to enjoy the landscapes that passed by, grass as far as the eye could see, valleys, dales, moors and mountains. They passed many cities that Harry only knew collectively as 'The North'. They went by farms and she wanted to stop the train so she could get a closer look at the cows and sheep. She'd never seen a real cow before – at least not in London

"Are you okay, Potter?" Parkinson asked, prompting Harry to pull her attention back into to the train car.

"Of course. I'm fine." She smiled.

She had to get away from here.

About fifteen minutes before they were due to arrive, Harry excused herself to the bathroom. This year it had become abundantly clear that she couldn't be a normal student with normal friends. She really had tried to protect the twins, but in the end death still crossed them. Everything Harry touched, everyone she cared about, suffered and died. She had to go away – not because she was running away from her problems like Hyde suggested (she'd stopped trying to call him Voldemort in her mind), but because she had to protect the people she cared about. If she moved in with the Greengrasses it was only a matter of time before something awful happened to them.

In the seclusion of the cramped toilet, she grabbed a fresh roll of parchment and scribbled a quick, but honest note for Daphne. Mostly it was an apology; to Daphne, to her parents, to Mr Bulstrode and Mr Malfoy for wasting their time. She told them that she was grateful; that they were the only people in her life who'd ever tried to help her and she appreciated it; that she was ok; and that they shouldn't worry about her.

Then she waited out the rest of the ride, and when the train came to a stop she threw on her invisibility cloak and made a getaway, slipping the note into Daphne's bag as she went by. She left everything behind in her trunk, everything but what she wore, and for the most part it was easy. The only thing she struggled to part with was her wand. Practically, she knew it would get broken in a week if she took it with her, and that she couldn't use it anyway. However it represented so much; power and potential, and leaving it behind felt like admitting life would never get better, and resigning herself to life without magic… She couldn't do it. Instead she stole a forearm holster from a sixth year and resolved to be mindful about keeping her wand on her at all times.

Walking out into the cloying London air, her lungs became heavier in an instant and filled her with a sense of familiarity and _home._ The pollution, the noise, the never ending wave of uncaring humanity – it was all so stark and jarringly different from the world on the other side of that train journey. It started to drizzle.

This was reality.

A man walked by with a document file under his arm, and it occurred to Harry that thieving would be ridiculously easy with her dad's cloak, though she quickly berated herself for thinking about magic: she had survived just fine without it, and she would survive again.

Bumping into many confused muggles, she quickly made her way back to the Underground, and only when she was hidden behind some fat randomer on the Victoria Line did she remove the cloak. Her friends would probably only just be realising she'd gone, so she felt safe. She'd be miles away before they started looking for her.

When she got off at Brixton the grey skies were beginning to darken, and Harry smiled at the purple-haired, 50 odd year old woman in a leather mini skirt dancing around a lamppost, singing nonsensical words with a carefree abandon that Harry very much envied. She wanted whatever that woman was on – wanted to separate her body from her mind. But not really.

At a brisk pace it didn't take long to reach her destination, but to her dismay the old abandoned factory was gone, and stood before her was a half-finished new build surrounded by construction site boards. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was.

Well, there went her shelter for the night.

"You surely realise this is the first place they'll search for you." Harry jumped and spun, shocked to her core to see Hyde standing there in his ugly purple robes on the streets of London. Her psyche wasn't prepared for it – talk about two worlds colliding!

"W-why – what the hell are you doing here? This wasn't, I thought you – I wouldn't have to worry about that if you'd held up your end of the deal!" It took several seconds to don her cool, calm mask, and then she looked about for other wizards, because in her mind there was a fifty/fifty chance Hyde was here to betray their agreement and kill her.

Voldemort smiled. It hadn't even been 24 hours - she was far too demanding. "It is not an easy ask. It took me some time to acquire the necessary items, but if you are still intent on this ridiculous scheme:" He handed her a silver chain with a long, leaf shaped pendant made from bright jade, and a small vial of potion. "Add three drops of your own blood to the potion before drinking, and wear the amulet at all times."

"Do I want to know what's in this?" She eyed the sludge-brown liquid sceptically.

"I shouldn't think so." He also handed her an empty vial – clearly for the blood she'd agreed to give. Then he handed her a knife, her own knife, and she didn't hesitate to cut open her palm and fill the vial provided (and three drops in the potion), but after putting in the stopper she held it in her hand for a long moment. She had agreed to this, because handing over some blood seemed a better deal than Hyde killing her right then and there at Hogwarts, but that didn't mean she wasn't deeply uncomfortable with it. Not having had the opportunity to research, she could only let her imagination go wild with ideas of what Hyde could do with her blood. Freddy Krueger ripping out tendons and muscles and manipulating her like a puppet came to mind… But he'd given his word that he'd leave her alone, and he was decent enough - for her evil arch nemesis anyway.

She handed him the vial. "Hope it kills you." She said lightly, and wisely he chose to ignore it.

The amulet slipped around her neck easily, which was kind of weird because she expected something more to happen. She didn't feel any different? The potion was not so easy however; it was a treacle-like viscous substance that tasted foul and dried her mouth the second it hit her tongue.

Voldemort watched on for a short while with intrigue: she had trouble swallowing the stuff, but forced it down, hacking and gagging, and at one point jumping up and down. After leaving Hogwarts castle he'd experienced a significant loss of strength, a loss of strength that was reversed now he was back in Potter's vicinity. That she was the thing at Hogwarts making him stronger was both puzzling and worrisome. He already had too many unanswered questions surrounding this child, but this was a matter of real concern: was this another aspect of their strange connection? Or was it a power he needed to fear? So far it seemed to work to his benefit, and that was the only reason he didn't go back on his word and remove her altogether. He would give her a chance as promised, though he still had his doubts about whether she'd survive out here… Was it even a chance he was giving her, or simply a choice of damnation? And why was he overthinking this again?!

Harry finally got the foul substance out of her mouth and throat, though she swore she could now feel it in her stomach. She imagined she must have looked a state, but when she finally pulled herself together and looked to see Hyde's reaction, she discovered he was long gone. Well, good riddance. He'd got what he came for and so did she.

So why was she disappointed?

Once she had rehydrated, her next stop was a guy named Phil. He was a low level dealer, but a family guy who'd always been friendly with her, and if anyone knew where her friends had gone it was him.

However when she got to his house there was a car outside that was way beyond his paygrade, and so instead of knocking, she paused; it was getting darker and the constant light rain was starting to soak through to her bones, so sheltering in Phil's house had appeal, but then the type of criminals who had money for cars like that were best avoided. Not wanting any trouble she decided to leave. She could find her friends tomorrow.

"Well, fuck me! Half-pint? Shit, I thought you were dead!"

She froze before even making it out of the garden, an ice cold shiver ran down her back and pooled in her stomach as fear gripped her. That voice belonged to the most evil man in the world. She couldn't say for sure what Robbie Palmer even did – it was probably healthier not knowing – but he was pretty damn high up in some truly despicable circles judging by the things he could get away with.

With a loud, deep inhale, she steeled her nerve and turned to face him with a smirk – you could not show weakness with people like this.

"You're not that lucky." She snarked, relieved to hear his bark of laughter, though unable to look away from his eyes. Harry had never seen anything in people's eyes except fleeting emotion. All that windows-to-the-soul talk was nonsense as far as she was concerned, but when she looked into the eyes of Robbie Palmer she wondered if there wasn't something to it after all. There was nothing behind his eyes; they were beady and black, and _empty_. When she'd told Hyde she knew people much scarier than him, she meant it, and Palmer was scariest of all. He was responsible for half the suffering in East London, and he gave it no thought whatsoever. Harry could remember the first time she met him: she'd told him to fuck off, because she was six and kids are stupid little arseholes who repeat everything they hear. She could still remember his reaction clear as day, and it still made her shiver: he'd leaned down, covered her mouth with his hand, and warned her, 'watch your mouth little girl, or I'll sell you to someone who'll put it to better use.' He hadn't raised his voice, and he'd never hurt her, and at the time she didn't even know what he meant, but those eyes had terrified her into silence. He would have done it too, she knew. He had absolutely no proclivity for children, he couldn't blame some mental sickness, he couldn't claim he was overcome by inner demons or overwhelming desires. No, he would have sold her to a fate worse than death just for talking back to him, and he wouldn't have cared. If eyes are the windows to the soul, Rob's had a vacancy sign.

This man wasn't Hyde threatening to kill her, he was actually fucking evil. And she felt actual fucking fear. If only she had been able to learn the killing curse, the world would now be a better place. She'd consider anything; stroke, heart attack, road traffic accident... if only she knew the right words...

"No I guess not." He smiled, all teeth like a shark, and just as cold and uninviting. "So what are you doing around here?"

"Dunno. I wanted to look up everyone, but I guess they moved while I was away." And she wouldn't ask exactly where they were, because there was no need to fall into his debt.

Seemingly in a good mood (but who could tell for sure), Palmer laughed again (like some kind of normal human being who experienced things like humour).

"Good luck with finding them now! Scattered like cockroaches: Your old scumbag pal is hooked up with some cunt over in Gipsy Hill; his last one's feeding the worms." More laughter, either unknowing or uncaring of the little girl's swirling emotions. Her heart clenched, because Jay's 'last one' had to be Donna, and Harry liked Donna. She was a vicious bitch when high, but so what, a lot of people were. She had always tried to take care of Harry, in her own way. Harry couldn't care about the rest of humanity, but she cared for her friends, and her hurt quickly gave way to anger. "… last I heard Sean moved back up to Birmingham." He was going on – how and why Palmer knew all this she had no idea.

"How did Donna die?" asked Harry, sounding admirably apathetic.

"Dumb bitch went selling her fanny while she was sick with pneumonia. Probably died drowning on cock."

With the fire now raging through Harry's veins it was only a matter of time before she did something stupid (if only she knew the killing curse…), so she decided it was time to go. Her head was pounding and the blood rushing through her ears was deafening, and the last time she'd felt like that two people died! Not that she'd have minded Rob dying – not every death was a loss. She didn't know who to be most angry with. Rob? Sure, but she shouldn't have expected any human decency from him in the first place. Donna, for being stupid? Yes absolutely, but then desperate people do desperate things. Jay for letting her go out? The hospital for allowing a crack and heroin addict to discharge herself? The dealer who wouldn't give her a freebie when she was too sick to earn? As all this flew through Harry's mind, all roads led back to Robbie Palmer, back to people like him getting people like Donna hooked to begin with!

"I should get going." She said quietly, allowing a small shiver to emphasise how the chill of evening was starting to creep in.

That night the skies opened up to torrential rain, so Harry ended up sleeping on the night bus with a 57 year old man named Eric, who shared with her his entire life story, and a younger couple who didn't say a word, not even to each other. She watched the streets of London through rainy windows, and thought about what the wizarding world was making of her disappearance. If they had any sense, those who were helping her would resent her for throwing it back in their faces, and not try to find her – she'd wasted enough of their time already. Thinking about magic and the magical world made it difficult to sleep, and she tried repeatedly to put it all from her mind, but was quickly starting to fear Hogwarts had weakened her too much. She couldn't shake the cold on the bus (and it wasn't even winter), and the hunger already starting to make itself known was worse than she remembered. She was using the invisibility cloak as a pillow, but couldn't stop worrying about accidentally turning something invisible, or losing her wand, or why she was thinking so much, because she was sure she didn't used to think this much. When she started to think about thinking, she put her foot down, so to speak, and 'borrowed' a Walkman from the young couple. She finally fell asleep to Tupac reminding her to 'Keep Ya Head Up'.

It was almost 10pm three days later when Harry finally made it to Turner Street. The houses here were surprisingly decent, so it wasn't hard to find the right one. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a two bed semi. Thread bare curtains pulled taut over the cracked downstairs window, barely blocking the dim glow from within. The garden was out of control and littered with children's toys that hadn't been played with for a long time. She frowned: it was a long shot anyway, but if Jay's new girlfriend had had children taken from her, there was no way she'd let Harry, a child she didn't even know, stay with them. She wondered whether it was even worth visiting, but in the end she decided there was no harm in it because it was cold out and Harry was hungry.

The front door must have been kicked in a few times, for it consisted mostly of plywood and was missing its numbers, and as she knocked she thought it felt worryingly hollow.

A brief, but fiery argument echoed from within the property, but it didn't take long before the door was wretched open.

"WHAT – Half-pint?" Jay smiled down at her. He had a black eye and a busted lip, but seeing him made her feel better. Even at eleven she knew it was an artificial comfort, but his slightly red eyes (he was drunk), and familiar smile made her feel safe. "Shit, I never thought I'd see you again! Never wanted to see you again!" She took no offence because she knew what he meant, and just smiled up at him cheekily, but instead of reassuring, it made his own smile drop into a frown. "Are you okay?" He asked the ever present question.

Harry dragged in a ragged tired breath, as though now she'd made it here all her energy was sapped, and she only managed a quiet mumble: "No. I don't think I'm okay." And immediately, Jay's face became hard, his drunken jolliness melted in an instant to something almost aggressive.

"Who hurt you?" He asked, deadly serious, looking to grab a baseball bat and break backs.

Harry just shook her head. There was no way to explain everything that happened this year.

"I couldn't make it work." She told him dismissively, while straightening up to signal the subject wasn't open for discussion. He knew there was more to it, but that seemed to be enough for Jay, and so instead of pushing he quickly downed the can in his hand and forced it from his mind along with everything else that made him uncomfortable.

"Well then, come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off." He grinned. "We were just throwing you a welcome home party."

And so they did. The music was turned up and people appeared from nowhere to fill the house, and Harry spent the night eating delicious home foods (a whole can of Pringles at one point, because it had been ages since she last _popped)_ and dancing, and laughing at everyone else's dancing, and having a great time with people who didn't expect a thing from her.


	20. Holiday

The echo of screams lingered for seconds after the wretched man was released from the torture curse, but the soft cries and whimpers of the woman in the corner hadn't stopped since they arrived.

"More, Lucius. I believe our friend is in need of a little more persuasion."

The man trembling on the floor began to moan his objections, every fibre of his body screaming at the prospect of more pain.

Lucius glanced across to the Dark Lord, barely suppressing the urge to run a hand across his brow. Suddenly using so much dark magic was leaving him fatigued, but he didn't dare disobey. His master was less than impressed with how quickly he'd renounced him, how he'd been living the life of luxury while doing nothing to find him over the last few years.

The Malfoy patriarch was very mindful that Voldemort was going to make him earn his way back into favour. And that he wasn't likely to make it easy.

"Or perhaps, "Voldemort continued with a malicious sneer, causing the blond to wither under his stare, "your heart has grown weak during my absence? Perhaps you hesitate out of pity." He lifted his foot nudged the moaning body onto its back, "Perhaps you would spare this muggle?"

"Not at all, My Lo–"

"And perhaps" Voldemort interrupted, pointedly running his fingers along the length of his wand in quiet threat, "I need to strengthen your resolve."

Lucius quickly ducked his head, before lifting his shaking arm to curse this latest muggle.

Voldemort dismissed the pathetic blond in favour of watching the muggle thrash about. They'd already tortured and killed five muggles today, but Voldemort had hope for this one. The man was holding out, and while Voldemort knew he would break, because everyone breaks, the fact he was trying not to talk was a good sign. None of the others had needed much incentive to sing. They were the type of scumbags who would sell out their own mother for a loaded needle. Not this one though, this Jason Leese; he'd watched his friend being tortured, and even after a round himself, he refused to give up Harry Potter.

It had taken a week before Voldemort was ready for his rebirth, a week to gather his people and establish his base, and a further two weeks to realise what was behind his strange connection to Potter. He might not have ever figured it out had she not become such an obsession. The fact he had been able to see into her mind kept him awake at night. And the effect her blood had had on his rebirth… He didn't know whether it was just because she hated him and she was an enemy who willingly sacrificed for him, or because of some special power.

He figured it out though. He'd turned Harry Potter into a living Horcrux! And he was furious with himself for it.

He was convinced he'd sent her out into the world to die, but now he knew she held a piece of his soul, he couldn't allow that to happen. She was his Horcrux, his property, and he wasn't going to wait around until some idiot muggle killed what was his. He was furious with himself because by the time he'd figured it out she was long gone, and he was the one who'd made sure she couldn't be found.

With no other option, he'd brought Malfoy and Macnair to London, determined to burn through every junkie he came across until someone pointed him to Harry. It hadn't taken long before he was led to this run down shack of a house and to Leese, who was apparently like family to Harry Potter.

By the time Lucius lifted the curse, Jason was gurgling his own blood in an effort to tell them everything they wanted to know.

"She, she left. She left. I, I don't know where she went" He cried hurriedly.

"Lucius."

"NO! Fuck. No, no more, please. I'm telling you the truth! I swear, I swear."

Voldemort held up his hand to stop Lucius cursing Leese again. "Go on." He encouraged, glad the man was finally being honest, and simultaneously annoyed the man would be of no help. Supposedly this was the one person in all London most likely to know where Potter was: without him, the trail went cold.

"She, she was here. She was," Jay coughed a few times, his throat was sore from screaming and made it difficult to talk. He'd already been deep into the hellish recesses of withdrawal when these men showed up. He felt like he was going to die, and all he wanted to do was cook up and forget all about this nightmare. "But," he coughed again.

"Some water for our new friend here." Declared Voldemort to no one in particular, pleased when Macnair rushed forward to obey.

The muggle took the water and sipped eagerly. "Thank you," He whispered up to the Dark Lord, who only stared back steadily, forcing himself not to roll his eyes. They were always so grateful for small mercies, grateful for anything other than pain.

"She only stayed a week. I, I think she couldn't settle. Or she couldn't let go."

"You think?" Voldemort pressed, an icy threat that the muggle should not waste his time.

"NO! NO! I Know! She was different somehow, when she got back from school. I could tell, even when she smiled, or laughed… I think she was just lost. She just needed a change." He'd seen it a hundred times, on a hundred faces.

Voldemort felt a pang of jealousy as this piece of human debris claimed to know Harry so well. He couldn't justify it, even to himself: it didn't bother him that the man cared for Harriet more than he ever would or would ever care to. It bothered him that he _knew_ her, that he had some insight Voldemort did not.

"The girl is but a child. You found it acceptable to allow her to run off alone?" He asked viciously, ignoring that he had done the same, because he never claimed to care for her the way this man did. To his surprise, Leese scoffed lightly.

"Nah man, she'll be fine. That _child_ is more capable than any fucker you'll ever meet!" Voldemort itched to curse the man himself. It was no wonder Harry felt the need to be so hopelessly independent with adults like this around! "Besides, she'll come back when she's ready. She always comes back."

That wasn't good enough. A thousand things could happen before the infuriating girl decided to return.

Certain the man would be of no further use, Voldemort lifted his wand in order to end the man's pitiful existence. The muggle cowered away from him, expecting more pain, and it occurred to Voldemort that as unsatisfying as it was, there was a real possibility Harry would chose to return to this miscreant before he was able to locate her. If her friend here wasn't alive to return to, she might never resurface! Damnit!

* * *

Harry lay on her back, balancing on a body board as it bobbed about near the shore of a golden beach in the Algarve. This was definitely the life! When she first got on a coach to France, she only planned on staying for a few weeks. Just a break. Then she'd befriended a small gang of bikers from Portugal who'd given her a ride, no questions asked and no payment required. It was now over a month later and she was honestly having a blast. Even the hunger wasn't so bad down here – she reckoned maybe that had something to do with the heat. Who knew?

It was better here, she thought, remembering the day she left London.

 _Jay's girlfriend Sarah had been moaning about Harry for a few days, but the woman was a fun loving party animal, and after she scored each day a party was had. Sometimes it was an actual party, with lots of strangers and a dizzying array of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes it was just Sarah, spinning around the living room._

 _The night before Harry left there had been an actual party, which had died a slow, laboured death an hour after dawn, and though the house was now still and quiet save for the wheezes and snores, Harry couldn't sleep. While the dull echo of rave beats thudded in her head, she thought of Hogwarts, and then resolved not to think of Hogwarts, but of course this only made her thoughts stronger. This was supposed to be better: Home, whatever that meant. She was supposed to feel better – she thought she'd feel better when she got back to what she knew. But having been away for so long she felt like stranger in her own world. She'd had a taste of a better life and so now this existence seemed… uncomfortably empty._

 _She'd had a brilliant night, and yet here she was again, lying among people she didn't know and who probably wouldn't wake up if the house were to catch fire. Survival, that had been what Hyde called her life. She'd eat broken glass before she admitted it out loud, but she was starting to get a creeping suspicion he was right. She could wake up tomorrow (or later today), find food, steal money, and maybe have another party if everyone recovered. It was all so meaningless._

 _"Harry?" Jay spoke quietly from the sofa behind the young girl, breaking through the ambient stillness of the room, but hardly disturbing the other sleeping residents._

 _"Hmm?" Lying on thin carpet, she stared up at the same ceiling she'd been assessing for a while now. What was once white had been yellowed with nicotine, and a patch of black mould was creeping in from the corner. The longer she looked at it, the more it was starting to resemble an eagle. Maybe Ravenclaw…_

 _Jay spoke softly, "What the hell are you doing here?" Her brows furrowed as she stared harder, trying to make the mould into anything else, anything that didn't remind her of magic, until she gave in and replied:_

 _"I don't know."_

 _"Something happened? Tell me."_

 _"I killed my friend, killed my headmaster, and then helped free a serial killer. Oh, I also killed a troll." She told him sardonically._

 _"Ha, Ha." He replied, unimpressed. She didn't bother to respond, so he continued, in an even quieter voice, "I went to a boarding school, you know?" She didn't know. "And I get it. It like a different world, right? Full of rich, stuck up arseholes who have their own peculiar culture, and who look at you like a rabid dog if you don't know how to use 'summer' and 'winter' as verbs."_

 _Harry smiled and finally sat up against his sofa. "That's scarily accurate" And scarily insightful for Jay._

 _"And you let the arseholes drive you out?" He asked, never afraid to challenge her bad decisions._

 _"No." She said immediately. "Some of them were ok. And there was this one guy… a professor… I kind of thought he got it, that he understood me, but…"_

 _Jay made a small pained noise and rubbed both hands across his face. The effect of a decent teacher, a decent mentor, couldn't be overstated, but they were so very rare. "Let me guess: he made you feel special, gave you extra attention, and then tried to put his hand up your skirt._

 _Laughter rang throughout the room as Harry lost it, "Oh god, no! Nothing like that. He just wasn't who I thought he was, and I just didn't belong there. Let it go." She tagged on, wiping away a mirthful tear._

 _"You don't belong here." He told her, like it was some declaration. "We both know it."_

 _"What's your problem?!" She tried to snap at him, her good mood having lasted only seconds._

 _"My problem is that you've let other people chase you away from a decent education and probably a great fucking life, and I hate that you would be such a fucking coward."_

 _Harry scoffed, "Yeh right, I'm the coward! School work out well for you, did it?"_

 _"Bitch give me a break. I fucked up, so what? You're better than this, and you're smarter than me and you don't need to throw your life away." Harry rolled her eyes._

 _"I'm not smarter – you're the smartest person I know." She told him. Listening to his long ramblings and monologues over the years had probably taught her more than any book could._

 _"If that's true then you really are fucked."_

 _She leaned back and closed her eyes, wishing she'd drunk something before the alcohol ran out! "Give it a rest with the sensei shit, ok? I don't need it."_

 _"Then tell me why you came back here."_

 _"I don't know, I thought you'd put me up for the night?"_

 _"You know what I mean."_

 _Her head was starting to ache, and she didn't think it had anything to do with the party, or lack of sleep._

 _"I need a holiday."_

A rogue wave upset her precarious balance and she fell into the shallow water with a squeak. Thankfully no one saw or cared. She pulled the board onto the sand and left it there for whatever kid found it next, and stole some randomer's beach towel to dry her hair a little as she walked up into town.

At least she'd had some fun before leaving Britain: She'd been feeling a tad angry with, well everything, and so she committed one last act of fuck-you. The company who'd made her friends homeless, who'd knocked down the factory to build some soulless monstrosity made a good symbol of everyone who'd fucked her over!

Harry, Jay, and some new friends Grant and Steve broke into the site and doused the new build in petrol. Harry had the honours of lighting it up, of course, and after thinking about it for all of twenty seconds, she wrapped the invisibility cloak around a piece of two by four, and set it alight. She didn't need the cloak, and nor did she want it. Because it was from her father. She'd yearned to find her parents for so long. Wanted to find the people who were supposed to care about her more than anything in the world (or at all). And when she finally found them she was so disappointed. She didn't want the cloak, or their money. She had never had anything of her own and so material possessions meant nothing to Harry. She just wanted somebody to take the strain – Keeping the cloak felt like accepting a consolation prize.

She didn't accept.

Watching the building go up in flames, Harry said goodbye to her home of over a year, and goodbye to her parents.

It was great fire.

* * *

 **I tried to condense her time away from magic into two chapters, and it killed me not to expand haha. xx**

 **Catching up with Harry in Portugal next chapter.**


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